Bloodlines
by elysiann
Summary: A ghost from Jess's past resurfaces without warning, turning his world upside down... in a very dangerous, life-threatening way. It will take the backing of his family at the Sherman ranch to set things straight and help him come to terms with this sudden reunion.
1. Chapter 1

**Rating: PG  
Warnings: drunkenness, mild violence ahead  
Disclaimer: *gasp of surprise*... no, I don't own Laramie.**

 **A/N: Yes, another work in progress. I can't help it. If I don't start posting, it takes me AGES to finish because motivation is lower. Spoiler alert, I've taken a little creative license in this story, extrapolating on Jess's intriguing and foggy past, so please let me know how I've done as the story progresses!**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

The jaunty, if somewhat muddled, notes the old saloon pianist pounded from his beer-stained instrument resembled something along the lines of 'Camptown Races', Slim mused distractedly. The tune might have been more recognizable had the pianist been sober, and if the clamor of drinkers and angry poker players had been reduced to a dull roar.

Payday in Laramie was always a boisterous affair. As soon as dusk settled, the saloon was overrun with hired hands, their pockets newly stuffed with hard-earned wages. A man's money changed hands at least three or four times on a payday night, and was usually fought over in a drunken card game or two. The proprietor counted himself lucky if the only damages done were a few busted chairs. Every so often his luck was running low; the front window had been shattered on several occasions by either a flying chair or unlucky cowboy. In fact, payday was such a disruption that Mort Corey had taken to sending a deputy or two into the saloon to watch the place and break up any really serious trouble. The deputies did their job as well as could be expected, Slim decided, observing the cacophonous but relatively controlled barroom. He stepped warily between tables, taking care not to jar any of the poker players or casual drinkers, for fear of starting a brawl. Any little thing could set off an inebriated man, as Slim had learned early on in his saloon-going days.

Sidestepping a large rancher, Slim scanned the crowded room for any sign of his best friend and hand. Shutting out the din of the bar and squinting into the dim lighting, Slim quickly spotted the familiar, slender frame hunched over the bar, staring blankly into an empty glass.

One foot restlessly scuffed against the weathered floorboards, and Jess seemed to be clinging to the bar for support, rather than casually leaning on it. "Bar-keep? Gimme 'noth'r sh-shot." Glass scraped against the uneven grain of wood as Jess slid his shot glass toward the bartender. "Jus' one more."

The barman took in Jess's disheveled appearance, the bottle of liquor hesitantly poised to pour. "That's what you said three drinks ago, boy."

"Don' start... th-that again," Jess drawled, clapping his slightly trembling hand over the bartender's. "Pour m-me one, Sam."

"This is the last one, Jess, I swear."

Amber liquid sloshed against the sides of the shot glass, and the dark-haired man nodded with drunken appreciation. Jess lifted the glass between work-soiled fingers and tipped his head back, downing the fiery liquid. He grimaced, emitting a sharp grunt as he hunched over the bar. A sharp shake of his head, a pained scrunch of his eyes, and he brought his groggy gaze around to meet Slim's stern look.

"Shhhhh," Jess warned loudly, pressing a finger to his lips, wet with whiskey. Heavy eyelids drooped and blinked open again, revealing dull, bloodshot blue eyes. "Don' t-tell mis'r Sherman... I been drink'n... He w-won' like it...much."

Slim set his jaw against the whiskey on the younger man's breath, gently pulling the empty glass from his hand. Jess was so far gone to liquor that Slim wondered if he recognized him at all. "I won't tell him, don't worry."

"Mmmmmm. I 'preciate it... pard," Jess slurred, mouth curving up into a euphoric grin. His curls fell limply across his forehead, an unruly contrast to his usual neat, combed appearance.

"Let's get you home, boy," Slim muttered, tossing a silver dollar onto the counter to pay for Jess's fun. His arm slipped through his friend's, firmly pulling him towards the saloon door.

"Aw, no..." Jess shook his head matter-of-factly. "Th' night's still... st-still young... an' I g-got to... t' drink away m-my sorrows."

Slim tightened his grip on Jess's arm, guiding the younger man to his horse. "Easy, pard. Let's mount up."

"But-" The dark-headed rancher frowned, a hiccup interrupting his clouded train of thought. His head cocked to the side, unsure, and after a long moment he nodded, forgetting his arguments completely. "Le's m-moun' up."

Slim impatiently endured Jess's lengthy attempts to get astride his bay. The task of fitting his dusty boot into the stirrup alone took a good few minutes. Several times, Slim reached out to help the process along, but his advances were always met with weak resistance and slurred insistence that "I'll d-do it... m'self."

Jess finally managed to get seated in his saddle, and Slim rode close beside him, arm tensed to steady him if he swayed dangerously. "What in blazes were you thinking, getting drunk like this?" Slim muttered, narrowing icy blue eyes at the smaller man. Despite the lopsided smile, Jess looked absolutely miserable. A sheen of sweat glistened on his paled skin; red-rimmed, glassy eyes were shadowed by haunting dark circles.

Whiskey-wet lips curled into a pouting frown. Jess's head swiveled side to side, slowly and deliberately. "Y're mad."

Slim's mouth set into a hard line, and he turned his gaze straight ahead. "Yeah, well... you and I'll be having a talk about that when you're sober. Hours of valuable working time tomorrow are gone now, 'cause you'll be too hungover to break and brand the stock."

"M'sorry," Jess slurred, leaning dangerously sideways. He glanced blearily downward when Slim caught his sleeve and pulled him upright. Fixing Slim with a wobbling grin, he clapped a clammy hand on his friend's shoulder. "Won' happ'n ag-gain."

"Mmmhmm." Slim wrinkled his nose in disdain. The intoxicating smell of alcohol was strong, with Jess's face that close to his own. The musty, acrid stench of whiskey was hot and damp, and Slim turned his head away with a stifled cough. "For the love of- Jess, how much did you drink?"

Jess's features clouded, brow furrowed in thought. His gaze shifted uneasily, lazing high and low. "Dunno. Los' c-count."

Lost count. Jess would have had to down heaven knows how many drinks before losing himself like that. He had lots of grit, and Slim had always known him to hold his liquor well.

"We've gotta get you home," he muttered through clenched teeth, taking a firm hold on Jess's arm. "Keep a tight hold of those reins, boy."

"Mis'r Sherman... g-gon' be mad," Jess mumbled, slipping back into an amber haze. "Real mad."

"Why's he gonna be mad?" Slim ventured, unsure exactly what Jess was aware of. "Because you're drunk?"

Jess shook his head, shadowed eyes taking on a deep blue sadness. "Fell f'r it... p-play'd me f'r a f-fool." Dark, mournful eyes fixed dazedly on Slim. "Got me... 'alf d-drunk 'fore th' pok'r g-game... d'know of they was... ch-cheatin' or not... reck'n so. Th' bought m' d-dang near 'alf a b-bottle o' redeye... afore settin' me down t' p... play."

"And they kept the drinks coming all during the game, right?" Slim guessed, a sinking feeling I'm the pit of his stomach.

"Mmm... shoulda stopp'd after th' fourth... r-round..." Jess reeled in the saddle, hands weakly grabbing at the horn. "...seem'd s-so... so..."

"Honest and kind? Friendly?" Slim supplied dryly, surprised that his friend - sensible old Jess - was taken in like that. "What came over you, Jess?"

"They ordered th' g-good stuff. Not th' water'd d-down nons'nse. Didn' r'lize it 'til I'd down'd a th'rd a bottle."

A muscle in Slim's jaw tightened. Hard lines were etched plainly on his sun-tanned face. "How much did they take you for?"

Jess shrugged, inadvertently exaggerating the roll of his shoulders. "Fif... fifty, I g-guess. M-maybe sixty 'r so." A shaky, euphoric smile lit up his haggard features as he laughed. "Sixty doll'rs in pay, gone."

Slim's tight expression softened. "You sure you were cheated?"

"How'sat?" Jess turned bleary eyes on his his employer. "Ch...cheat'd? Mmhmmm. Th-they cheated."

Slim said something in reply - a question, maybe? - but Jess had reached his limit. The tall blond riding beside him wasn't speaking clearly anymore... Or maybe Jess wasn't hearing right? Slim was nothing but a blur now, heavily shadowed in the moonlight. The blur tilted, reached out- and Jess's head fell against warm horseflesh. Dark lashes brushed against Traveller's neck as heavy eyelids drifted shut, and then he succumbed to the whiskey completely.

* * *

"Morning, pard!"

Jess's face screwed in pain, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The heavy boots that clomped across the bedroom kept time with the skull-splitting pounding in his head. Slim had no reason to stomp about like that, the smaller man decided angrily, other than to torment his friend and partner.

"Rise and shine!"

'It oughta be illegal to be so chipper in the morning,' Jess thought darkly.

"I'll rise," he conceded with a grunt, "but I won't shine." He forced himself up onto an elbow, stifling a loud groan.

Slim clicked his tongue in a chastising manner, arms crossed across his chest, and stared down at his hand with amused disapproval. "Looks like somebody had a little too much fun last night."

"Nothin' fun about it," the younger man growled, falling back against the pillow with a grimace. "I feel like I got kicked in the head by a mule."

"And you look even worse," Slim added cheerily. "Come on. Up and at 'em."

Jess scowled and pulled the covers up under his chin. "You got a mean streak in you a mile wide, Slim."

"What happened to 'Mister Sherman'?" Slim asked, feigning surprise. "You were right polite last night, Jess."

Jess grimaced, remembering pieces of last night's conversation. _"Don' t-tell mis'r Sherman... I been drink'n... He w-won' like it...much."_

"You mean I didn't just dream up that part?" Jess asked weakly, cracking one tired eye open. Seeing Slim's grin, he muttered a curse under his breath. "Great. Just my luck."

Slim snatched Jess's clothes up from their chair and tossed them onto his friend's chest. "It's a shame. I was really starting to like this formality between boss and employee."

Jess laughed sardonically. "Hope you didn't get too used to it, 'cause you ain't likely to hear it again." He gritted his teeth, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and set about getting dressed.

"Now that you're up, we can get on with the consequences of your jolly night on the town."

Brows drew together, eyes clouded with concern, and Jess looked up at his employer. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"You oughta pay for your fun," Slim replied earnestly. "I think fair penance would be a ride to Green River for that cattle auction on Friday."

Jess glowered as he buttoned his shirt. "We flipped to see who'd make that trip, and you lost, fair an' square."

"So I did," Slim agreed with a nod. "But seeing as you've wasted half the morning sleeping off liquor, I don't think you're in much of a position to argue."

Scowling at the floor, Jess yanked his boots on. "Fine. I gotta leave near right away to get to the auction by tomorrow night, though."

"Then you'd better hustle!" Slim grinned at his seething partner, darting through the doorframe just ahead of a flying Henley shirt. "And Jess?" A blond head poked back inside the bedroom, alight with amusement. "Maybe next time you'll be more careful who you drink with."

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews are excellent motivation, if you want faster updates! I'm debating with myself which of two very different paths I should take this down, so I'll try and write asap!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, I didn't expect such an excited response! I'm blown away, thank you all from the bottom of my heart! Your reviews prompted me to finish this chapter much faster than I'd planned, so here you are :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

The noon sun hung high against the whitish-blue of the midday sky, casting its small, gray shadows over Laramie. Riding briskly along the main street, Jess squinted up into the cold white light and pulled at the reddish, frayed hem of long underwear that peeped from beneath his sky-blue shirt sleeve, covering the chilled bit of skin between shirt and glove. Turning up his coat collar against the wind, he slipped a casual hand into his saddle bag, touching the stack of bills hidden under his extra shirt. Still there, just as he knew it would be... but it was reassuring to feel the stacked paper. One could never be too careful when traveling with cash; the cattle money that Jess had withdrawn would have made him a target for highwaymen, if they'd known he was carrying it. As it was, the frigid wind kept most folks inside, and there'd barely been anyone on the street, much less in the bank when he made his withdrawal.

"Hey, Jess!"

His train of thought cut off abruptly as the friendly greeting drew his attention.

"Jake," the dark-haired Texan greeted dryly, pulling his bay to a stop. One slender leg swung over the saddle horn and his lithe form slid to the boardwalk. "Need help?" he asked, seeing how the mercantile owner struggled with the large sacks of flour he hefted on each shoulder.

Jake shook his head vigorously. "No, no. A little exercise'll keep me warm." He deposited both sacks on the front counter simultaneously, sending up a cloud of white. Jess, who'd been following close behind, caught the worst of it; coughing, he waved a gloved hand in front of his face and staggered backward, out of the chalky cloud.

"How's... business... Jake?" Jess asked, each word punctuated with a powdery cough.

"Same," Jake replied evenly, wiping a flour-covered hand on his apron. "Awful chilly day. A mite colder'n yesterday, I'd say."

"It ain't so much the cold," the younger man coughed, "It's this dang-blasted wind that keeps blowin' my hat all over" – cough – "creation." Jess tugged at the leather fingers of his gloves, tucked them into his belt, and rubbed chilled, work-weathered hands together. Faint lines appeared around his eyes and along his mouth, evidence of a contained wince as the pins-and-needles sensation intensified before fading away. "I need enough supplies for two days' ride."

"Sure thing." Jake moved behind the counter, gathering coffee and beans. "Where're you headin'?"

"Green River. Slim wants me to ride out for a cattle auct- no, Jake, none of that."

The flask was almost completely obscured by the dark leather of Jess's saddle bags when Jake's hand stilled. The sudden rise in the cowboy's tone confused him. "What, nothin' to keep you warm on the trail?"

Jess shook his head firmly, feeling the slightest residual ache from the morning's hangover. The leather flap on the saddle bags flipped shut, and the dark-headed man slung his supplies over his shoulder. "Nope, I've had my fill for a good while. Coffee'n beans'll be plenty. Thanks." Metal clinked on wood, the shiny coin bouncing once, twice on the counter where Jess had dropped it. Moving briskly, he jerked his hat low over his eyes, brushed past the men loitering outside the store, and swung gracefully up into Traveller's saddle. His boots slipped easily into the stirrups, and a light click of his tongue urged the groomed bay westward.

"He's right tame for a gunslick."

Drawling words, spoken after the young man was well out of earshot. The speaker was a tall man, well-built, and unkempt. He leaned back against the wooden siding of the mercantile, arms folded across his chest, between his two companions.

"Ain't a gunslick no more, Dover. I hear he done been domesticated this past year. An' keep it down, will you?" Stormy gray eyes narrowed, the effect heightened by dark circles. "He'll hear you."

"Aw, Casey, you worry too much." The third man scratched his straw-like mustache, scrunching his nose. "He can't hear a thing we're sayin'. Good thing he didn't see us though... think he'd have recognized us?"

Casey thumbed the hammer of his revolver, nestled neatly in a battered holster. "Likely he would've, Hank. He spent enough time 'round us in the saloon last night."

A satisfied grin slid across the shorter man's face. "Yeah, I reckon he did. Did you hear what the barkeep said after his boss come to fetch 'im? Sounds like he ain't hardly been drunk more'n once in the past year. Folks say he's a right sensible, respectable fella, an' he don't get carried away with his liquor."

"Well that's 'cause he don't drink with the likes of us too often, I reckon." Casey's dirty red hair fell into his eyes, and he jerked his head sideways to flip it back. "His boss didn't seem too happy."

"Didn't seem all that mad, neither," Dover observed dryly. "Most ranch hands woulda been fired after somethin' like that, 'less they was real close with their boss."

The following silence was empty and cold as the three tugged their coats tighter and watched Jess disappear at the end of the street. Wind pushed at their Stetsons, and the only sound was the steady smack of Dover's chewing tobacco.

"Where'd he tell the storekeep he was headin', anyhow?"

Dover worked his jaw, spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice between his teeth. "Green River, I think. Reckon we oughta catch up with 'im outside of town?"

"What for?" Casey's hands rested on his gun belt, one finger absently fiddling with the buckle. "He's headin' up the same way as us. We'll take 'im outside of Green River. It'll save us a heap o' trouble."

Nodding slowly, Dover turned to watch the meager amount of Laramie folk out and about, bre. "S'pose it makes sense. But Case... are you _sure_ he's the Harper we're lookin' for?"

"Sure, I'm sure." The older man's eyes flashed. "Why? Ain't you?"

"Well, there's a lotta Harpers out west..."

Casey's mouth settled into a grim line, and he shook his head. "Not a chance I'm mistaken. You both saw the pictures on those ol' wanted posters. Don't it look like the same fella t'you boys?" Both heads bobbed immediately, and Casey crossed his arms in satisfaction. "There you go! I've looked into 'im real good, he's the one."

"And you're sure this is the way Ansem wants to play it?"

Casey unconsciously stiffened at the mention of their leader. He considered himself to be fast on the draw, and an all-around tough character, scared of nothing and nobody. Charles Ansem was the only man who'd ever sent a chill down his spine. There was something off about the man – maybe it was he hollow look in his black eyes, the way he never seemed to blink. He'd never seen the man sleep, either – sometimes he wondered if their boss was more machine than man.

"That's what Ansem says," he replied tightly, feeling his throat constrict. He swallowed hard. "If he wants Harper, we'd do well to deliver."

* * *

"Hold still, Trav."

Barely a mile out of Creston, and his bay had pulled up lame. Fortunately the moon was full, and Jess was able to clearly see Traveller's hoof, held tightly in his hands, as he crouched by the horse's flank.

Expert fingers explored the hoof and shoe, making short work of finding the pebble wedged under iron. It took several long minutes, but Jess managed to ease the pebble closer to freedom.

"One more minute. Easy, fella."

His fingers felt swollen and stiff in the numbing cold, but he managed to grasp the tiny stone between thumb and forefinger one more time.

"Steady."

His breath was hot and damp against the chestnut flank, slowly become more labored with the effort of squatting, supporting Traveller's leg, and working at the pebble.

"Almost got-"

"Don't move, boy." The hollow click of a gun drew Jess's attention immediately, accompanied by the grated threat.

Jess stilled, and felt a tremor in the warm hoof cradled in his hand as his bay seemed to sense the quickness of his master's heartbeat. The dark-haired man slowly – _very_ slowly – lowered the animal's foot to the damp earth and raised his hands. "Mind if I turn around?" he asked tightly, resisting the urge to turn around.

He bristled, feeling the tug at his hip. Eleven pounds of steel, a comforting weight Jess had lived with since he was big enough to do a man's work, was lifted from his holster.

"Go on. Turn around." A mocking smile was audible in the man's tone. The taunting note sparked recognition as Jess eased himself around, and his expression hardened.

" _You_ three." Gloved fingers rubbed against the leather of his empty holster, and his shoulders squared unconsciously. "You oughta know better'n anyone, I've barely a penny to my name."

Jess would have recognized them anywhere. He didn't often forget men that got him drunk and then cheated him out of his pay. It was just his luck, running into them again out here, miles from Laramie.

"Don't be sore, boy. Was your own fault, gettin' so drunk that you couldn't tell a pair from a full house."

"Don't be sore?" Jess echoed, his voice rising an octave. "You're the worst kinda scum there is, mister; cheatin' when the other fella's already too drunk to see straight. I bet you ain't never played a straight game in your li-"

"Watch it," Casey warned sharply, lifting his gun so it was aligned with the young gunfighter's heart.

"All the money I've got's in my wallet here," Jess ventured, reaching carefully into his jacket. "It's about twelve dollars. You're welcome to it."

The square of leather was jerked from his hand, opened, and inspected. "You're lyin' through your teeth, friend. We know you drew a hefty sum from the bank just this mornin'." A slow grin revealed yellowed, neglected teeth. "Don't fret none, we ain't after your money."

"You got enough of it as it is," Jess growled.

"We'd planned on jumpin' you after our little poker game the other night," Dover sneered, "but your boss come in an' hauled you outta there like you was a stray calf. It's a cryin' shame he had to spoil things like that. We had it set up real nice."

Hank cocked his head to the side, and his neck cracked loudly. "Mmmhmm. That spiked liquor had you drunker than ratified whiskey after only two shots. We figured you'd be no trouble at all on the road."

So that was it. Jess had kicked himself all day for letting himself go like that, and getting into a poker game drunk... come to find out it hadn't been a lapse of self-control, but drug-laced alcohol. "How much did I drink?" he grated, fingers rubbing together restlessly.

"Oh, 'bout half a bottle. It weren't hard t' keep you drinkin' the stuff, once the drug kicked in."

"You went to an awful lotta trouble just to cheat me out of a lousy sixty dollars." Dark brows drew together, and Jess regarded the three men warily. "Or are you after more than just my money?"

"Well, since you ask," Hank drawled, fixing his dull gaze on Jess, "We're lookin' for a man by the name of Jack Harper. You know 'im?"

Jess's fingers curled around his empty holster as the feeling of apprehension grew stronger. "You friends of his?"

"More or less," Casey replied snidely. His grin widened. "We're lookin' for 'im, an' I think you can help us."

A muscle in the slender cowboy's face twitched, and his eyes darkened. "Jack Harper is dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I knew it. I'm getting this story done three times as fast now that I've started posting. Expect updates every three to seven days (give or take) at this rate!**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

"Jack Harper is dead. Killed in the war."

Jess had expected surprise, maybe confusion, from the three – surely if they were looking for Jack, they woudn't have known he was dead – but their expressions remained unconcerned, Casey's eyes even daring to hint amusement.

"You were never told, huh?" Dover scratched his swathe of thickly matted hair. "There was a man killed, alright, and the army thought it was Jack. Then come to realize they'd made a mistake, after they'd already notified his relations... and you _are_ one of his relations, ain't you?"

Jess was shell-shocked. "If you came after me 'cause you're lookin' for Jack," he managed hoarsely, feeling his throat constrict, "I think y'already know the answer to that."

Surely if Jack was alive he'd have tried to get in touch... of course, Jess hadn't seen either him or Francie since he'd set out on his own, a year after the three of them survived the Bannister's fire. Growing up – even before the raid – he'd always been closest with Jack, despite the seven-year difference between them. Remembering the letter he'd gotten from the army, telling him Jack was killed in action... it was like it had happened yesterday. The stab of shock that sliced through his gut was as tangible in this moment now as it had been all those years ago. And now, knowing Jack might be alive, and that these men were after him-

"Supposin' I believe your cock'n'bull story," Jess growled, "I've thought Jack was dead 'til this very minute. I ain't seen hide nor hair of him in dang near ten years."

"If you're lyin', boy..." Casey's voice adopted a menacing tone.

"Like I said, I've thought he was dead 'til now." The threat aroused Jess's suspicion further, and his features hardened. "What's your business with Jack, anyhow?"

Hank offered Jess a thin-lipped smile. "We wanna talk a deal with Jack, but he's an elusive critter. After ten years away from his brother, I can't imagine he'll pass up the chance for a reunion."

 _Brother_. So they _did_ know. This bitter confirmation twisted like a knife in his stomach.

"What're you gettin' at, mister?"

The double barrel of a shotgun was hefted up and leveled flat. Dover thumbed the hammer anxiously, twisting a length of rawhide with the other. "Gimme your hands, Harper."

Jess's shoulders tightened with the realization that if he obeyed, he'd lose his chance at freedom. He wasn't sure what these men wanted, but it definitely involved his brother... the brother who he'd thought was dead.

Jess wasn't sure whether he believed these men or not. He didn't see what reason they had to lie about Jack, but the odds that the army had made a mistake, and he just hadn't been informed...

"I said _gimme your hands!"_

The sharp crescendo of Dover's shout jerked Jess back into reality, driving him a step back with its sudden volume. His back bumped against something warm and solid. _Traveller._ One hand slid behind his back, feeling for the stirrup. Cold metal met his searching fingers.

"I ain't goin' nowhere with you, mister."

Casey gritted his teeth, snatching the rawhide from Dover. "You wanna bet, gunslick? Ain't so big without that iron, are y-"

Bobcat quick, Jess spun and mounted, swinging into the saddle with practiced grace and speed heightened by adrenaline. Spurs touched the bay's sides lightly, and he pranced against the soft earth only half a moment before lurching forward, falling easily into a gallop.

A bullet zipped past Jess's ear, too close for comfort. Another shot shattered the night air, this time flying off harmlessly into the inky black abyss of sky.

"Danged fool, Ansem wants him alive! Mount up!" The roar sounded like Casey's, but tinged with anxiety. As if he was frightened what might have happened if Jess had been delivered dead; what the repercussions would be if they failed to catch him.

Hooves pounded dirt, staccato thumps melting into one dull sound. Icy wind whipped so loudly in his ears that Jess had to crane his neck turning to see how close his pursuers were – the only hoof beats he heard above the roar of wind belonged to his own mount.

They hadn't expected him to bolt. They must have left their horses in the brush for the sake of subtlety, since he didn't hear them sneak up on him. Giving it his best guess, Jess estimated he had a good two minutes on them, if Traveller's gallop stayed steady during the mile or so to Creston. The local law could help him out, take care of these three. Then Jess would devote his energies to finding his brother, to see if he really was alive... after that dang-blasted cattle auction.

The few minutes passed quickly, the only sounds being the needle-sharp rush of wind on his face and the steady, rapid pulse of his heart in his ears.

He tore into town, spraying dust and gravel as his bay skidded to a stop in front of the sheriff's office. There wasn't a light on inside. The knot in Jess's stomach grew, becoming a dull, apprehensive ache. He dismounted and squinted into the dim light, jaw clenching at the dusty sign hung in the barred window:

'Sheriff out of town. Be back Friday morning.'

Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow would be too late, Jess guessed he had less than two minutes before Hank, Casey, and Dover galloped into town and hunted him down. He could only hide for so long, with three of them able to fan out and cover more ground.

An instinctual expletive tore from his throat. The tinny saloon music rubbed his jangled nerves raw. He spun sharply, scanning the street for any sign of life aside from the cacophonous saloon.

The telegraph office was open, yellow light spilling from its front window. Jess spanned the two-building distance in a matter of seconds, sending the door slamming forcefully into the wall.

"I need to send a wire," the dark-haired man announced abruptly, breathing heavily from the ride and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "To Slim Sherman in Laramie."

"Sure, young fella." Old, slow hands reached deliberately beneath the counter, groping for pencil and paper. "Just write it out, I'll send it right away."

Anxious fingers curled and flexed against Jess's leg, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. Rough, graveled words forced their way past clenched teeth. "I'm in kind of a hurry."

"All you young folks are, these days," the telegraph operator mused, his old husk laced with disappointment. The slip of paper and pencil stub were torn from his grasp, and he watched with mild interest as Jess scribbled harshly across the paper scrap.

 _In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother. Jess._

"Mmmm." The old man's cloudy gray eyes squinted behind his spectacles, reading the succinct, urgent message. "Thirty cents."

Jess dug in his pockets, cursing when his fingers closed around the wad of bills intended for buying cattle. "Doggone it, I can't be caught with this," he muttered, feeling tension build up in his shoulders.

"What was that, boy?"

The old, wrinkled face lit up when a stack of bills was thrust into his hands.

"Look, mister." Sparks underwashed the steely blue glare Jess fixed on the telegraph operator. "My friend is gonna be here in a day or so, after he gets my telegram. This money belongs to him, and I can't be caught with it, you hear?"

"I-I hear you." The white head bobbed nervously. "I'll keep it real safe, I swear."

"Take your thirty cents from that, not a penny more. My friend'll know if there's more'n that missin'. You see that he gets it."

"Sure, sure," the old man chattered, shuffling across the room and opening the cashbox. "What was your friend's name, again?"

"Slim Sherman, in Laramie. You send that telegram quick, now!" The last word was lost over his shoulder as Jess darted from the little building.

He had to hide his mount and find a place to hole up. A loft somewhere, maybe an empty warehouse. He grasped Traveller's reins, muscles taut with trepidation.

He had close to a minute, by his conjecture, until his three pursuers tore into town, ready to tear the place apart to find their quarry.

He was wrong.

Jess barely tugged his mount three steps in the direction of the stable. An arm snaked around his chest, tugging him against a warm body in a crushing grip. Hot leather clamped across his mouth, two fingers sliding under the bristled chin for increased security. Jess felt his spurs drag in the dirt, jangling futilely as he was forced back into an alley, and slammed up against rough siding.

White-hot pain spiked through his arm; an unrelenting grip pinned his wrist between his shoulder blades. A sharp jerk, and something in Jess's shoulder popped. His back arched against the pain, a small sound finding its way past the gloved hand that muffled it.

"Help me hold 'im, Casey." The snarled command was hot on his neck, immediately met with a grunted reply that Jess couldn't make out through the sound of his own ragged breathing and pounding heart.

The restraining hands pulled away suddenly. Jess coughed and doubled over, gingerly clutching his pain-numbed arm. Barely half a moment passed before the wooden stock of a rifle slammed into his chin, and the alley before him flashed white. He tried to turn, lashing out numbly at a shadow; reality whirled and tilted. Something brushed his elbow as his knees gave out – a hand, maybe two – and he succumbed to darkness.

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me and supporting me! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I had no idea this would be done so soon - I couldn't sleep last night, and next thing I knew, I'd written practically the whole chapter!** **I hope you continue to enjoy as we learn more about the mysterious Jack Harper.**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

"When'll Jess be back?"

Lingering on his bookkeeping a moment longer, Slim scrawled a few more numbers in neat script on a scrap of paper. He checked his figures once, nodded curtly, and finally allowed himself to look up. "What was that, Andy?"

"I asked you when Jess is comin' back." Wide brown eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the elder Sherman, waiting for a reply.

Slim shrugged, rhythmically tapping his pencil against the old desk. "Tuesday morning at the very latest, I'd imagine. Why, are you in some sort of hurry to get him back here?"

The boy's leg bounced impatiently, palms rubbing against his jeans. "Well, yeah... Jess was s'posed to take me fishin' tomorrow, and now we've gotta wait 'til next week."

 _'_ _Maybe if Jess hadn't gone and gotten stone drunk, you'd be having that fishing trip'._ Pushing the cynical thought from his mind, Slim stuck by his decision to keep Andy in the dark concerning Jess's episode in Laramie the night before. Jess meant the world to Andy, and Slim couldn't bring himself to taint his reputation in his little brother's eyes.

A year ago, he'd have had Jess pack up and move on after a wild night like that. He'd been wary of the drifting gunman who'd found a place in their lives, especially after seeing how Andy practically worshipped the ground Jess walked on. Just over a year later, Slim was no longer coldly skeptical of his quick-draw ranch hand. He'd trust Jess with his life any day; there was no one else he'd rather Andy admire and model himself after. Jess Harper had proved himself honorable and loyal.

So Slim refrained from sharing any information with Andy, at the risk of pulling Jess down off his coveted pedestal. He told the truth - that Jess was gone to Green River for a cattle auction - without any explanation as to why the job was passed to the younger man when Slim had been planning to go himself.

"He'll be back before you know it." Slim tousled his brother's dark hair affectionately, giving him a firm pat on the shoulder. "It's coming up on nine o'clock, boy. Past your bed time."

Andy's brows drew together, and for a moment Slim thought he was going to argue... but dutiful submission smoothed the scowling lines in his forehead, and his shoulders rose and fell with a tired sigh. "G'night, Slim. Night, Jonesy." Andy lifted a heavy hand to the elder man, which was distractedly returned.

"Good night, boy," Jonesy answered, his eyes never leaving his book.

"G'night, Tiger." Slim inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly as he watched his brother drag his feet the whole way to his room. The corners of his mouth slightly upturned, and he looked to Jonesy. "S'pose we oughta be turning in, too."

"I reckon." His tone carried a note of agreement, but Jonesy made no effort to put his book down.

Faint amusement lightened Slim's expression as shook his head, standing to stretch his tired, stiffened limbs. "Good night, Jone-" he broke off suddenly, cocking an ear toward the door. "You hear a rider coming?"

Only then did the book close and come to rest on the table. Jonesy rose from his rocker and pulled the window shade aside, squinting into the night. "Can't tell who it is, but they're ridin' hard."

Anyone riding out in this kind of cold had to have something tremendously important to say. Slim's fingers worked against each other anxiously, rubbing warm. A few long strides had him on the porch; frosty air immediately bit at his fingertips, and he neatly tucked his hands under folded arms.

"Mort? That you?"

"Yeah, Slim!" Polished tin on the sheriff's chest caught yellow lantern light again, confirming the rider's identity a half-second before the shouted reply came. Mort Corey's dark mare pulled up restlessly in front of the house, and her rider dismounted, reaching into his jacket. He withdrew a crisply folded piece of paper. "Billy Lawrence over at the telegraph office brought this down to the jail. It's for you."

Something in Mort's tone set alarm bells to ringing. An ominous feeling akin to dread tugged at Slim's insides, settling rock-hard in his stomach. "You sound like you've read it."

"Billy was awful worried by it, and asked me if I thought it oughta be delivered tonight, instead of tomorrow morning." Mort twisted the paper slip between his fingers. "I figured you'd want to see this right away. It came in about an hour ago."

Slim calmly accepted the proffered telegram, restraining himself from snatching it from Mort's hand. His baby-blue eyes ran over the staccato message, clouding with worried confusion.

"In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother... Jess." Slim's jaw clenched, accompanied by a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. "He's in some kind of trouble sheriff, but I can't make any sense of that last part."

"As long as I've known him, I've never heard Jess talk about his family. Did he ever tell you anything about a brother?"

Running a hand through his hair, Slim frowned and looked back down at the slightly wrinkled telegram. "He doesn't like to talk about it, but his folks and most of his brothers and sisters were killed in one of Frank Bannister's raids. The house burned down around them, and only three got out – Jess, and an older brother and sister."

"So his brother's in trouble, and Jess got himself involved," Mort concluded, hooking his thumbs in his gun belt. "Simple enough."

"No."

Confusion clouded the sheriff's shadowed face, his eyes fractionally narrowing. "No? What's wrong with that?"

"Jess's brother and sister are both dead." Slim's hand tightened around a support post at the edge of the porch. "He has no living relatives."

"His telegram said he was in trouble... maybe he's run into some folks that don't know his brother's dead?"

Slim nodded, swallowing the tight fear in his throat. "Could be. Jess can usually handle himself – he must be neck deep in trouble to have wired me for help. Thanks for bringing this out, Mort – it wouldn't do me any good to ride out now, but I'll head to Creston before dawn tomorrow."

"No problem, Slim." Getting a firm foothold in his stirrup, Mort swung himself into the saddle and touched the brim of his hat. "I'll be seein' you. You want me to ride out to Creston with you?"

"I know the sheriff there," Slim assured him. "He'll help me in any way he can, I'm sure."

Mort nodded. "If that's the way you want it. Do me one favor?"

"Anything, Mort."

Lantern light bounced off the tin sheriff's badge, and Mort offered his friend a small smile. "Bring Jess home safe."

* * *

Jess Harper's return to the land of the living was blissfully slow. Awareness crawled over him like a slow burn. Starting with his pulsing jaw, an ache made itself known with sluggish deliberation.

Fighting the heaviness with innate determination, he willed his body to move – realizing his mistake a moment too late. The merest shift set his shoulder ablaze with pain, and through the fog, Jess remembered the sickening pop; the sparks that had sprayed across his vision. His shoulder burned anew, tearing a weak moan of half-sentience from his lips.

"Harper's comin' 'round."

The voice sounded far away, echoing as if spoken from the far end of a tunnel.

"Did you hurt him anywhere but the shoulder, Casey?"

"No, no, we followed your instructions real good. Tried awful hard not to hurt 'im at all, but he fought like a caged raccoon."

Jess felt as if his head was stuffed full of cotton. His mind struggled to register thoughts and sounds that drifted in and out of the fog of consciousness, but his grasp on reality was lost.

The back of a hand stung like fire across the whole right side of his face, coming out of nowhere. Warm copper spread across his tongue, and Jess forced his heavy eyes open. Dark lashes rose and fell as he struggled to bring the room into focus; foggy silhouettes tilted dangerously.

"He's goin' back under. Should I hit 'im again?"

Those five magic words gave Jess the ounce of incentive he needed to suppress the burn in his shoulder and open bleary blue eyes. Blinking once, twice, he managed to clear the black fringing his vision, focusing on the leering face before him.

"Jess Harper." Amusement lightened the hollow, black stare that met Jess's pain-glazed glower. "I'm Charles Ansem. It's nice to finally meet you." A calloused, work-hardened hand was extended in a gesture of mock congeniality. Ansem's lips pulled into a gloating grin, his gaze dropping to take in the secure bindings holding his prisoner to a straight-backed chair. The hand withdrew, disappearing into a pocket. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance."

Swallowing once to ensure his voice wouldn't fail him, Jess returned Ansem's smirk. "I 'spect your men already told you," he rasped, "I only just found out Jack was alive. I don't know where he is."

"I didn't expect you to." Ansem didn't miss the lined surprise that creased Jess's forehead. His grin widened. "Jack's going to come to us."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! I'm really enjoying writing and developing Jack's character... and I'm absolutely on pins and needles about the upcoming reunion :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

"I sent Dover to get a message to your brother." Baleful satisfaction curled Ansem's lips into a vindictive smile. "I've tried to bring him in before – he won't hardly let any of us get within shooting distance. Dover'll send him a note by way of a go-between saloon girl... and I'm willing to bet that'll get his attention in a way no six gun could."

"You gotta be kiddin' me." The cynical edge to the mumbled words was amplified by Jess's surly expression. "I ain't seen Jack in near ten years. There's no tellin' if he gives a lick what happens to me."

"Listen, Harper," Ansem growled, his eyes narrowing, "I was around Jack for a good three years, and he only talked about his family once. He told me they were all dead, except for one brother – you – and he didn't know where to start looking for you. He seemed sort of fond of you. It was pure dumb luck that we happened across an old reward poster with your name on it a few weeks back... it didn't take much doing to find you after that."

Jess ran his tongue across his teeth, mulling over Ansem's words. Grimacing at the metallic taste of blood, he remarked lightly, "You sure went to a heck of a lotta trouble to get at Jack. Why're you so anxious to get him out here?"

"I don't see as how that's any of your business, boy," Hank snapped.

"You dragged me into this mess and _made_ it my business!" Jess shot back, every muscle in his body taut and rigid.

A dagger-like glare from Ansem quelled Hank's temper with alarming speed; the glittering black glower was then turned Jess's way. Black met unwavering blue, and the cabin fell deathly quiet for a haunting few moments.

"All in good time."

Ansem's voice was edged with quiet gruffness. Low as he spoke, the words were abundantly audible in the graveyard-quiet room.

"Well," said Jess, bitter contempt rolling off his tongue, "You mind tellin' me how you come to be a 'friend' of Jack's?"

"Your brother 'n' Ansem weren't jus' friends." A thin, satirical smile ghosted across Casey's face. "Why, they's practically family, wouldn't you say, Ansem?"

An empty laugh rumbled from the tall man's throat. "Near enough to it. See, Jack was sweet on my sister."

"Your sister?" Jess licked his lips, feeling the raw area where a backhand had split flesh. Amusement tugged at his mouth; he had to bite his tongue to repress a grin. "I don't guess there's much of a resemblance 'tween you two, huh?"

Red anger crept up Ansem's neck and tinged his ears.

Jess's satisfaction almost outweighed the hard, bone-on-bone pain of knuckles smashing into his jaw; sharpness jolted his body from his boots to his hair as the chair rocked dangerously before wooden feet solidly hit the floor.

"One thing I always hated about Jack," said Ansem, his jaw tightening, "was his smart mouth. Looks like it runs in the family."

Another retort danced on the tip of Jess's tongue, just begging to be voiced. He clenched his teeth against temptation; every fiber yearned to goad the men, to lash out at them in the only way he could – verbally.

Ansem seemed to take callous pleasure in his prisoner's silence and obvious self-restraint. "A wise move, Harper. I shouldn't even dignify your brazen remark with a response."

Keeping his countenance carefully expressionless, he looked Jess over with wordless curiosity. Jess held his gaze, though not without difficulty. The blank stare sent an icy ripple down his back, but as much as instinct told him to break eye contact, he stubbornly refused to show any weakness.

"She was my step-sister. There was no resemblance between us at all." The spark of ire finally faded from Ansem's cold, black eyes; nearly imperceptible lines around his mouth hinted at an approving smile. "There wasn't much affection between us, either. Sure, we got along, but we never bonded like a brother and sister ought to. Abigail met Jack in Carson City, when she came with Hank and me to case the bank. I kind of took a shine to your brother, Harper, even though I couldn't shake the feeling he had a decent streak in him."

 _'_ _Boy, us Harpers are a lawless bunch,'_ Jess thought, stifling a wry laugh. _'I ran with my fair share of gangs before settlin' down, and from the sounds of it, Jack got hisself mixed up in bank robbin'.'_

The cold smile that slid across Ansem's face didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "I should've gone with my gut, but Jack and Abby were star struck, after only knowing each other a few days. She let slip that she was with the gang, and he offered to join up with us to be with her. I thought he was just a fool in love, but he turned out to be one of the most valuable men we've ever taken on."

"How's that?" Jess asked dryly, his expression remaining impassive.

"Maybe you never knew this about your brother, boy... Jack Harper was a gifted safecracker. His talents made our bank jobs a whole lot smoother, without the noise of explosions drawing the local law."

Jack, cracking safes? Jess couldn't honestly say it was a complete shock – he'd always been in awe of his older brother's ability to work his way into places when they were kids.

The five Harper boys had been a rowdy lot, playing cowboys and Indians or posse and outlaws day in and day out. Their wooden guns and slingshots hardly left their hands, except for at the dinner table or in the wash tub. Jess remembered all too well the time an ill-aimed pebble struck their dear mother square on the temple; she took up a collection on the spot, relieving cowboys and Indians alike of their wooden weapons. They never did find out for sure who the culprit had been, Jess mused ruefully, but Ma had never asked – instead, she made a beeline for the woodshed, stashing the arsenal of toys and padlocking the door.

It took less than twenty minutes for Jack to wander over to the shed and start looking that iron padlock over. A young Jess had hung back in the shade of the house, leaning against the rough logs that made up the little cabin as he watched with growing curiosity. The little boy had indelible faith that his big brother, though barely twelve years old, would easily find a way into the tiny building. Within a few minutes, Jack had started to work at the lock with some of their father's tools, sliding a small pick into the keyhole. The whole process seemed to take ages to the young boy waiting impatiently by the house, but in reality, Jack had worked just over five minutes when the battered iron clicked open.

Jess admired his brother for this uncanny and useful skill, though the elder Harper often found himself in trouble with one or both of their parents for picking his way into places he wasn't permitted. It didn't surprise Jess at all that Jack had honed his talents further, moving on to safes in his adulthood. With his brother's natural skill, it was easy to see why Ansem would have kept him around.

"Are you listening to me, Harper?"

The abrupt irritation in Ansem's voice brought Jess back to the present, all memories of the pleasant little farm of his childhood vanishing into nothing.

"Harper, I'm talking to you!"

A sharply raised hand sent a panicked pulse through his body, and Jess hastily found his voice. "I didn't figure Jack for the bank robbin' type. I guess he liked your sister an awful lot."

Whatever sort of comment or reply Ansem had been trying to elicit from his prisoner, he seemed mollified by Jess's hurried words, laced with nervousness. His tersely poised hand lowered to his side, and his body relaxed. "He liked her well enough to marry her, seven months after he joined up with us."

"I never got a weddin' invitation."

"Oh, it was a private little affair," Ansem replied snidely. "Just the two lovebirds and a parson."

Jess bit back a low grunt. The pain radiating from his shoulder was dizzying, crawling up his neck and settling in behind his eyes. Scattered beads of sweat dotted his temples; the pain-dulled blue of his eyes disappeared behind closed lids.

"You don't strike me as the kind that'd allow a marriage like that." Though from all appearance, his strength was sapped, Jess's voice remained clear and unwavering.

"I had my reasons. Jack was head over heels for Abby, and everyone knew it. We needed his talents, he wanted my sister. He wasn't too keen on robbing banks for a living, but we had a mutual understanding."

"Let me guess." Jess drew a deep breath through his nose. "You made it plain to Jack – if he tried to up and leave, your sister stayed behind. She was a part of the gang no matter what."

"Bravo." Ansem's slow, mocking applause prompted Jess to lift his head, eyes opening just long enough for a look of irked acknowledgement. "You hit the nail on the head."

"So why did Jack leave?"

The bitter question elicited a grunt of irritation from Ansem. "He was content enough for a year and a half, never letting that decent, law-abiding side of his have too much sway in what he did. Then he got it into his head that he wanted to settle down somewhere, and take Abby somewhere proper, maybe even start a family someday. Jack sweet-talked Abby into seeing things his way, and was even making plans with her to run off. Might've worked, too."

Struggling to take in all the details of his brother's colorful life through the cotton haze settling in his mind, Jess nodded slowly. "What went wrong?"

"Scarlet fever. Took Abby and two others." If Ansem felt any remorse for the loss of his men or his half-sister, he hid it well. "Jack tried to run out on us four times in the six months that followed, but I wasn't ready to part ways with his skill set."

"He's gone now. Looks like you didn't keep a tight enough leash on him." Bruised and tender as his jaw was, Jess couldn't resist a prideful smirk.

A muscle in the older man's jaw twitched; a telling spark flickered in his eyes. "We've been after him for two months now. He lit out during a robbery, and dropped the money we stole right in front of the sheriff's office. He had enough sense to keep riding – he'd have faced a lengthy prison sentence for all the jobs he helped pull off."

"Guess you shoulda trusted your gut."

"Don't you worry none about that." Ansem grinned wolfishly. "You just worry about yourself, and what's going to happen to you if your brother doesn't show up."

Jess felt a twinge of emotion at that statement; he hadn't seen Jack in nearly ten years, and the possibility that the bond between them was still strong enough that his brother would give himself up... it seemed so far-fetched, so surreal. And yet... something inside believed it would be that way.

 _Jack, you danged fool._

He'd show up alright, if he was anything like the young man Jess knew ten years ago.

Jess dreaded the thought of seeing his brother again, as much as he wanted to see for himself that Jack Harper – supposedly killed in action – was really alive. The idea of a reunion would have been a source of excitement for most; for Jess, it turned his stomach, because Jack's inevitable arrival at the little cabin couldn't end well. Jess would have served his purpose, so there'd be no need in keeping him around any longer... and once Ansem was through with Jack and his talents, his brother would likely meet the same fate.

* * *

 **A/N: What do you think of Jack so far, though we haven't met him just yet?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Well... it's almost 5 AM and I can't sleep a wink. I pounded this baby out in about three hours, sorry it's a tad shorter than the others, but I figured Slim deserved a little screen time. Then we can get back to Jess, and move closer to the arrival of... *wait for it*... that' right. Jack. I love you all, and hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

The unnerving silence encompassing Creston's main street – aside from the saloon's perpetual piano ditties – gave the little town an eerie feel, Slim observed with mounting unease. The knot that had twisted his stomach as he rode had only worsened since his sunrise departure; now, as the yellowy haze of dusk settled over the town, the blond rancher's agitation reached its apex.

Slim had been through Creston before, often enough to be on friendly terms with the local law. In all the time he spent riding up and down this very street, he'd never felt so uncomfortable, so edgy. Somewhere along this street – the stretch of trodden dirt that had always felt so pleasant and friendly to Slim – somewhere here, something had happened to Jess. And whatever it was had something to do with Jess's dead brother.

Slim had never met a man with a past quite like his partner's. He didn't envy Jess his diversely enthralling life, as it had come at great cost to the young Texan. Though it had taken time, his hard-working hand had opened up about the fire, about his family. Jess, though often hesitant in doing so, had conceded to shed light on his past – but underlying that concession was a desire to be rid of that life, to move on and be something better. Jess Harper was building a new life for himself, one day at a time. Realizing this, Slim understood why Jess never truly, fully opened up to him, and he didn't mind that. He may never know the full story behind that pale, pinkish scar lightly encircling his partner's throat, or the explanations for the assortment of nearly faded markings that littered his lithe figure. Jess Harper had lived a hard life; he'd had to go it alone for too long. Now that he had a family, Slim sure as heck wasn't going to let him fight this battle unaided.

A sprightly rendition of 'Sweet Betsy from Pike' drifted through shabby batwing doors. Slurred vocal accompaniment, compliments of the local drunkard, dissonantly mingled with the staccato melody. Slim touched his spurs to Alamo's sides, lightly urging the animal to quickly close the distance to the sheriff's office.

Sheriff Ethan Parker was a young lawman, but he could ride with the best of them, more than able to hold his own against a band of outlaws or a slick gunman. The tall and slender sheriff was familiar with Slim and his infrequent presence in the little town as he made his way to Green River or Rock Springs.

Parker turned at the whine of a door hinge, and pleased surprise pulled his mouth into a smile. "Slim, good to see you again! Where're you headed this time?" The lawman stood, crossing the room in a few easy strides, and firmly gripped Slim's hand in greeting.

"Howdy, sheriff. I'm afraid I have business in Creston," Slim replied tersely, giving the hand a solid shake.

"Sounds serious." Parker's expression darkened. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for my partner, Jess Harper. He was through here sometime last night, and wired me that he was in trouble. If it was that serious, he would have come to you for help." As he spoke, Slim watched the sheriff's expression; instead of recognition, the young face only displayed confusion.

Parker shook his head, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Doggone it, I wasn't in town last night. I left a deputy in charge... the danged fool probably spent the whole night in the saloon. I can't tell you how sorry I am, and if your friend Harper has run into any trouble, I'll do whatever I can."

"I appreciate it, sheriff. From what I've seen of your little town at night, there's no one who would've seen what happened to Jess." Slim's jaw tightened, an involuntary curse slipping through clenched teeth. "I don't know where to start... I suppose I'll try your telegraph man and see if Jess said anything else that might help me find him."

"That's as good a place as any to start," Parker agreed, reaching past Slim for his hat and coat. "I'll try the saloon, though it's a long shot, and see if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary."

Slim stepped onto the boardwalk with a quick, gratuitous nod to the sheriff, and strode purposefully westward, making a beeline for the telegraph office. The door was barely open before he began to speak, "You sent a telegram last night, to a man named-"

"Sherman?" the elderly man finished, his tone heavy with annoyance. "I declare, these young people can't be bothered with simple courtesy like a simple 'hello' nowadays. They just keep a'runnin' their mouths faster'n us old folks can think, and expect us to-"

"Mister, I don't mean to be rude," Slim interrupted, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, "but I'm in an awful hurry, I think a friend of mine is in trouble, and I need you to tell me if you saw what happened to him last night."

The old man scratched his chin absently, eyes blinking thoughtfully behind his spectacles. "Sure, your friend was in here. Nice lookin' fella, shorter'n you, dark hair?"

"Yeah, that's him," Slim affirmed hastily, his hopes rising. "Did he say anything important while he sent the telegram?"

"No, no, just that these man was after 'im, and he couldn't be caught with..." Trailing off, the telegraph operator frowned at nothing in particular for several long moments; his face brightened suddenly, and he reached below the counter. "He left this for you – didn't want it fallin' into the wrong hands, he said."

Slim looked down at the stack of rumpled cash that was proudly slapped onto the counter. _The cattle auction money._ If Jess had left the cash for Slim, he must have thought there was a chance he'd be caught. The blond rancher realized that, in all likelihood, that was exactly what had happened: Jess had been taken... the only questions that now remained were _where_ he was taken, and _why?_

"... said not to take more'n my rightful thirty cents, or you'd know... well, I'll tell you, boy, he had no reason to worry! You kids are so dishonest now that you can't find it in yourselves to trust nobody at all!"

Slim suddenly became aware of the old man's droning rasp, and, blinking back into awareness, forced a tight smile. "Thanks, mister, I appreciate it." Edging toward the door, Slim plucked a twenty dollar bill from the stack and dropped it onto the counter. "For your help. You didn't happen to see what happened after he left the office?"

The old man's scowl softened at the sight of paper money, which he tucked into his vest pocket with a shake of his head to indicate the negative.

Back on the boardwalk, Slim turned his collar up against the frigidity of the early evening wind, inwardly wishing for what little warmth the midday sun had provided earlier. Hands tucked firmly into pockets, Slim headed back up the street to the sheriff's office, shoulders hunched and head bowed to protect his face from the sting of the wind. Studying the street underfoot, hewas nearly lost in thought, but his subconscious caught sight something and jerked him to full attention. Stopping sharply, Slim's eyes locked on a stretch of dirt leading into the alley that ran alongside the sheriff's office.

Deep, thin grooves scored the earth, like spurs digging into the ground.

Several sets of bootprints, tramping all over each other, scuffed about by a probable struggle.

The dirt street was packed and nearly dry. The evening prior, the ground would have been damp and pliable; any prints made then would have lasted through the night and been preserved all day, if undisturbed – and given the inactivity of the little town of Creston, Slim highly doubted anyone had been through this alley today.

Putting all those pieces together, it seemed that someone had been forced into this alley.

Jess had been here. And from the looks of things, he'd been subdued, taken off to who-knows-where... in the very spot where Slim now stood. The thought chilled Slim to the bone, penetrating deeper than any winter weather.

"Don't you worry none, pard," Slim murmured, his voice carried eastward by icicle wind. "I _will_ find you... somehow. I promise."

* * *

 **A/N: And Slim's hot on Jess's trail! Will he make it in time...?**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** **Important note: this is set before Jess finds out Francie is alive. Jack and Jess refer to each other as 'their only living relatives'... that's not a quirk or a misstep.**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

Waking from a drug-induced blackout was significantly less painful than regaining consciousness after a knockout blow. Not that the former was pleasant, by any means. These initial, muddied thoughts brought a bitterly thin smile to Jess's lips. Fragmented memories of slipping into blackness swirled through the haze of his subconscious. He didn't know how or when it happened; he only remembered the heaviness slowly claiming him.

There was a bright side to being drugged. A resentful laugh reverberated through the young man's throat... that was a thought he never dreamed would cross his mind. The descent into unconsciousness was numb, even euphoric; returning to awareness was almost like waking up from a deep, dreamless sleep. No skull-splitting headache... at least, the one he already had wasn't compounded by the second round of insentience.

Before long, Jess had his wits about him fully, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light emanating from the candle stub at the window.

"What'd you use on me?" Gruff from being out of use, Jess's voice felt unnaturally loud in his ears, dissipating the muted stillness of the little room.

Gray shifted against gray, a tall silhouette separating from shadow. Squinting into the darkest corner of the room, Jess could make out the figure of a man; not Ansem. This man wasn't tall enough. That realization was a comfort to Jess. He stubbornly refused to admit to fear, but Ansem's presence knotted his stomach like no other man ever had. The outlaw was callous, heartless... looking into his eyes was more unnerving than staring down the gaping black muzzle of a loaded revolver.

"Laudanum." A modulated voice, heavy-laced with a southwestern drawl. Hank.

Jess let his eyes fall closed, a long breath rushing from his nose as he tipped his head from side to side, gingerly stretching the stiff muscles in his neck. "Why?"

Golden candlelight glinted off the barrel of Hank's shotgun. "Ansem, Casey'n me needed t' go out an' do some checkin' 'round. Ansem didn't want you awake where you could get loose."

"You got me tied where I can't feel my hands anymore, much less move 'em 'round."

"Maybe so." A note of pride crept into the outlaw's voice, and Jess guessed he was the one who'd done the job. "But Ansem said to give you laudanum in your water, an' I weren't about t' argue with 'im."

Jess swallowed carefully, shifting his hands behind him. Pins and needles spiked through his arms, burning down to his fingertips. Air hissed through his teeth.

"Don't try an' get loose, Harper." Boots scraped against the floor as Hank shuffled into the light, easing himself into a chair opposite Jess. "You're safest sittin' right there. Try an' work yourself free, an' Ansem'll let loose on you. If you somehow get free and make a run for it, you'll be cut down in minutes. Yessir, you'd do well t'sit tight right there 'til Ansem says otherwise."

"Ansem has you all under his thumb," Jess snapped. "He says jump, you ask how high... you don't dare oppose him. What gives him that kind of edge over you?"

The yellow light of the candle highlighted the shadows that deepened on the outlaw's clenched jaw, visible evidence of his rigidity. "You ask too many questions."

"Ansem must have you real scared, iffin' you ain't got the guts to talk about him when he ain't even around."

"I don't gotta tell you nothin'!" The wooden table rattled sharply, Hank's tight fist landing hard. His eyes blazed like live coals. "You best shut up afore Ansem comes in here an' gets real mad."

The threat might have carried more weight had Jess not indulged his temper too far to care. Worked over, knocked out, taunted, and used as a pawn in a twisted plan to catch his dead brother who turned out to be _alive..._ getting knocked out a second time was just the icing on the cake. Despite his dismissal of the severity of Hank's warning, Jess restrained himself to a curt, "How long was I out?"

"Mmm... near to four hours, I guess. I didn't keep track."

The young rancher was seconds away from a bitter retort when heavy boots sounded on the porch, and the door swung inward. Ansem barely spared Jess a glance, stalking across the cabin and snatching a tin mug from the shelf. "He been awake long?"

Hank shook his head sharply, belatedly realizing Ansem had spoken to him. "Naw, just a few minutes."

There was no reply. Bold black liquid filled Ansem's tin mug; he brought the steaming cup to his lips and took a long draw. His unblinking gaze rested on his prisoner, taking in his battered appearance. "Got to get you cleaned up for Jack," he observed quietly.

"What makes you think he'll show?"

"He's two miles up the road right now. Dover's leading him in."

The words knocked the wind out of Jess like a sucker punch. _Of course_ Jack had taken the bait. He'd always taken the role of older brother very seriously, before Jess lit out, before they both ended up in the army... The fact that Jack never talked about his brother to the gang didn't mean he'd forgotten. No, it meant he cared, and he was protecting his only remaining family from men he knew to be ruthless killers. He always expected the worst, and prepared for it.

If there was one thing Jess remembered about his brother, it was that he was a planner, never one to be caught unprepared. Unless he'd changed drastically in the last ten years, there was no doubt that Jack had spent the whole ride mentally planning ways to get both of them out alive.

"Why'd you lure him back here? To kill him?" Jess swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, anxiously watching Ansem's every move. "I ain't gonna sit by and watch you shoot him down in cold blood. If you do, I swear I'll-"

"Shut up. I'm tired of your empty threats." The outlaw leaned casually in the open doorway, the steam from his mug wafting into the cold abyss of night. Horses whinnied in the distance. Wind rustled the trees.

"Make one sound," Hank warned, leveling his rifle at the dark-haired man seated opposite him, "and it'll be your last. No heroics, y'hear?"

"I hear you," the younger man grated coldly. Arching his back as far as he could without jarring his shoulder, he managed to relieve some of the agony that coursed through his whole body.

The minutes that passed were long, silent; tangible tension seemed to grow in the little room with every second that passed. Every second brought Jack closer.

"I see him."

Spoken lowly as they were, Jess barely caught the words. His head jerked up, pain flaring up in his shoulder. "You kill him and you're next, Ansem."

The outlaw's eyebrows rose, amusement playing on his face. "Harper, you don't seem to understand. I don't want to kill your brother... well, not for quite a while yet. I don't have another safecracker, and they're not easy to come by these days."

"You can't hold onto him forever. He got away from you once, he'll do it again."

"You sound awfully sure of him." Ansem turned his face toward the yard. "I don't think this is going to play out like you expect it to at all, boy."

"Maybe not. One thing I'm sure of." Stone-cold determination flashed in Jess's eyes. "This will end with you either dead or in prison."

The older man's head shook slowly, and in the moonlight, Jess caught the slight quirk of his mouth. "If I go to prison, your brother'll go too. If I go down, I'm taking him with me."

In the silence that followed, Jess weighed the man's words. Maybe he was right... but Jack had tried to quit the outlaw life; he could turn state's witness, get off easy. Of course, if Ansem died-

"Jack Harper!" Ansem's shout shattered the silence. "Dismount, real slow... that's right... now come inside and we'll have ourselves a long overdue reunion."

Jack was right outside. His throat caught; Jess would have preferred to reunite with his brother under much pleasanter circumstances, where lives didn't hang in the balance, but-

Jess would have recognized him anywhere, despite how he'd changed over the last decade. He'd gained a little weight, sure, and his hair was shorter, lighter... but it was still him.

"J…Jack?" His low Texas drawl was huskier than usual, and Jess swallowed the surprised lump in his throat.

The elder Harper's face was grim. His gaze flicked to the slender, dark-headed man in the chair before his narrowed eyes settled on Ansem. "Why'd you bring him here?"

The jerk of his head indicated he was referring to Jess. Ansem's eyes cut to his captive, and a wolfish sneer slid across his face. "I'm nothing if not thorough, Jack. Your little brother wasn't too hard to find. I just had to follow the wanted posters."

"That don't answer my question." Jack Harper's baritone voice matched his brother's in resonance, but it carried a velvet-like smoothness that distinguished it from Jess's rough gravel.

"Alright, Jack." Ansem raised his hands in a placating manner, and slowly moved toward Jess. "Your brother is here for two reasons. First and foremost, as bait... and as you can see, it worked perfectly. You've outfoxed every man I sent to bring you in – even killed some – so I was forced to resort to this."

A muscle in Jack's jaw twitched, and he allowed his glare to slide onto Jess, softening. The resemblance between the two brothers was subtle. They had the same strong jaw, and their chins were dimpled with twin clefts; but those similarities beside, they didn't look the part of brothers. Jack's hair was a straight, sandy brown that hung over kempt brows and hooded, copper-colored eyes. Aside from a thin, reddish brown mustache, Jack was bare-faced. The corner of his mouth quirked up in the slightest of smiles as he took in the bewilderment on the younger man's sun tanned face; the light lines at the corners of his eyes, the stubble that darkened his jaw.

"Ain't exactly my idea of a reunion," Jess muttered, rolling his aching shoulders with a grimace.

"You said there were two reasons," Jack reminded Ansem coldly.

Ansem's eyes flashed darkly. "So I did." His fingers twitched slightly, and he held out an open hand. "Hand over your gun, Harper."

Jack's fingers curled around the butt of his gun. "Now, wait a min-" The hollow click of a shotgun hammer cut him off. Gold-brown eyes immediately found the double barrel where it rested against Jess's temple. Jack flexed his gun hand, making a show of using only his thumb and forefinger. "Easy, Ansem. Call your man off my brother and we'll talk."

Once Jack's revolver was in his hand, Ansem motioned to a chair. "Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable." Jack warily complied. "Well, Jack, here's the second, more important reason we hunted your brother down and brought him out here. We weren't sure how much you cared about him, what with you two being separated these ten long years. I reckon you showed us by showing up here, we made the right move."

"He's my flesh and blood," Jack grated stiffly, "and the only kin I got that ain't six feet under."

"Since you seem so fond of him, and I'd hate to have to cut this reunion short with a bullet in his gut..." The shotgun's muzzle drifted downward, prodding Jess in the side, "I think it would be in your best interest to go along with anything I say."

Jack nodded wordlessly, toying with the silver conchos that adorned his wide-brimmed hat. "What is it you want?"

The slow grin that pulled at Ansem's lips confirmed both Harpers' ominous suspicions; whatever Ansem wanted, it wouldn't be safe, easy, or legal.

"Get comfortable, Jack. This is a big time hit, lots of complex details and split-second timing. I've waited too long for this job – you'd better pull it off without a hitch."

* * *

 **A/N: And so I leave you with that. I'd love to know if Jack is everything you'd hoped he'd be, and if you like him! Please, I appreciate the feedback :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Alright, guys, as usual: a HUGE thank you to all who've stuck with me thus far. My goal is to write a piece that never loses your interest, and I thrive on your feedback. Comments are always welcome, so point out anything that raised flags for you. Thank you for continuing to read and review, as always, I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

Night was half gone before Ansem finally finished laying out his plan. Law-abiding as Jess was, warped appreciation for the skillful ingenuity of the scheme worked its way to the fore. As a man who'd seen both sides of the law, the younger Harper understood the sinful beauty of a flawless plan, executed by a well-oiled team; the only kind of art an outlaw appreciated. Minuscule details, careful calculations... precision was imperative.

Midnight had just passed by the time the two brothers were left alone, Jack now bound in like fashion. Still taking in the reality of his brother's presence, Jess fixed his gaze on the wood planks that made up the floor, staring intently at the dust hard-packed in rough hewn boards.

What do you say to a brother after ten years apart?

Seemingly long minutes, in reality, amounted to mere moments before Jack's rich baritone broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Talk to me, kid."

 _Talk to me, kid._ The words brought back an entire childhood's worth of memories, some good, some bitter. Jack was the only person who dared to call Jess 'kid' more than once; as close as the two were, Jess good-naturedly allowed the moniker. If anyone else tried to get by with it, he'd give them a dizzying right hook for their trouble, but something in the way Jack spoke the word was special. Always endearing, never demeaning. _Talk to me, kid._

Jess lifted his eyes, meeting his brother's copper gaze from beneath a curled fringe of dark hair. "Ain't a kid anymore," he grumbled crossly, but the slight quirk of his lips betrayed his tone.

"No, I guess you're not," Jack admitted, cocking his head in agreement. "It was alright to call you that ten years ago, but not now, huh?" That only earned him a weak smile and nod, and he let his eyes drift down, searching for any obvious injuries. "C'mon," he coaxed again, softening his tone. "Talk to me."

Dark brows knitted together questioningly. "About what?"

"Don't give me that. You're hurt, and I wanna know where." Jack's expression hardened. "And tell me how bad it is. Honestly."

"You always could tell when I was lyin'," Jess groaned, shifting in his chair. "It ain't bad, honest. Just a few bruises."

"What about that shoulder?" The elder Harper glared at the odd squaring of the left shoulder, and the lump under his brother's jacket. "I mean it, Jess, I want the whole truth."

A submissive sigh brushed across the younger man's lips, and he glanced down at the swelling joint. "I don't know, dislocated or somethin'. Your 'friends' got a little rough bringin' me in."

"Anything else?"

The dark head swiveled side to side, blue eyes downcast.

"Did you egg 'em on?"

A one-shouldered shrug and derisive smile were the only answer Jess provided. After an upward glance at his brother's expectantly raised brows, the smaller man let out a noisy breath through his nose. "S'pose I riled 'em by escapin' on the road."

"As I recall, you had a real knack for rilin' folks when we were young." Warm candlelight illuminated his dimpled smile. "My little brother, always in some kind of trouble. Remember?"

"Sure, I remember. The trouble didn't stop after I lit out on my own, neither."

Jack shook his head incredulously, sentiment creasing the corners of his eyes. "Last I saw, you were a lanky, sixteen-year-old kid. A few years pass, and I start seeing your name on wanted posters." His eyes hardened, and he fell silent, clearly waiting for some explanation.

"I've spent more'n my fair share of time on the wrong side of a set of iron bars. I been wild, driftin' all over the territory, but I was cleared of all them charges." A wry smirk turned up the corner of Jess's mouth. "'Sides, you ain't exactly a saint."

"I don't pretend to be. I gambled by way all over creation, never stickin' with one partner or town until... until Abby came along." A muscle in the elder Harper's face twitched, his jaw hardening. "I s'pose Ansem's told you about her?"

The dark head dipped once, a small nod. "He told me." Jess was silent for a moment, carefully watching Jack's expression. "He also told me why he needs you in the gang so bad."

"My safe cracking?" A derisive smile curled his lips. "Ansem needed my talents, but he was wary of me from the start, and rightfully so. I wanted to be with Abby so bad that I would've done dang near anythin' her brother asked me to; I should've run off with her sooner. Then I wouldn't be in so deep with Ansem."

"What's the story with him, anyway?" Jess ventured curiously.

A sardonic laugh rumbled in the older man's throat. "I reckon I know as much about Ansem as the next fella. He's larger than life, takes charge, deals with anythin' in his way with no regard to how he does it. Everythin' an outlaw leader oughta be, I guess. His methods didn't always set well with me, the way he got what he wanted. It's like the man has no conscience... no soul." Jack shuddered, and icy chill shooting down his spine. "Sometimes I wonder if he's really human."

"He's at least half lobo wolf, half crocodile, and half rattler," Jess growled, his tone rising ardently. "Ansem's the kinda monster that ain't safe to let live, and first chance I get, I might just try'n take care of him myself."

"Ornery little cuss, ain't you?" Jack raised an eyebrow, faint amusement tracing lines around his mouth.

Jess smiled mirthlessly. "My life ain't exactly sunshine'n'roses, Jack."

"Neither's mine, but you don't see me sittin' here all sullen-like, do you?" Jack remarked glibly, the glint in his eyes betraying the jest in his words.

"Optimistic little cuss, ain't you?" Jess mimicked, rolling his eyes so deep blue disappeared behind dark lashes for a fraction of a moment. "You always were."

Jack shrugged. "No point in seein' the flask half empty. If you 'spect everythin' to turn out alright, they're a sight more likely to do just that." He paused to take in the dark circles beneath his brother's eyes; his worn, haggard appearance. If there was anything the younger man needed now, it was a boost in morale.

"You go on seein' that flask half full," Jess responded evenly. Parched as he was, his voice started to take on a heavier gravel than usual. "I'd just as soon see it empty." That drugged whiskey had soured him towards liquor for the foreseeable future. Jess grimaced at the memory.

"Lighten up, kid." Jack's heart beat double-time when the rope beneath his fingers shifted; an hour of hand cramps was finally rewarded with a slight slip in the thickly-knotted hemp at his wrists. Adjusting his grip on the expert knot, Jack offered his brother an encouraging grin and a wink. "I get the feelin' this'll turn out alright."

* * *

Dawn sparkled yellow on early morning dew. Pale and cold, just peering over the jagged horizon, rays of sunlight streamed up against the overcast sky. The rocky outcroppings were alive with winter's pale sunrise tones.

Slim might've noticed, maybe taken a moment to appreciate the serenity of the morning, if he hadn't been so preoccupied. As he'd anticipated, asking around town had led nowhere. Not even the local alcoholic had been out on the street two nights ago when Jess had been taken. The only clue Slim had was that cryptic telegram, pinpointing the location where Jess had run afoul of trouble.

 _In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother. Jess._

Short and succinct, like any telegram Slim had ever received from his partner. The smaller man hated having to shell out extra money for surpassing the ten-word limit. But this message's urgency told Slim that this time, Jess hadn't been concise for the sake of pinching pennies. He hadn't had the time for any more details, or he surely would have given them. As it was, Slim had only those ten words to go on. Somewhere in those ten words was a lead, some clue to Jess's whereabouts.

 _In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother. Jess._

Three men, looking for my brother.

That was the part that both confused and concerned Slim most of all. As tragic and harsh as his partner's past had been, the blond rancher understood why Jess rarely talked about his family. He'd shared enough, though, for Slim to know that his dark-headed ranch hand had no living relatives... at least, none that the young man knew about.

These 'three men' didn't know Jess's brother – what had Jess called him before... John? Jacob? – was dead. Either that, or somehow, unlikely as it seemed, the man was still alive.

"Sherman! You got any tracks?"

No amount of staring at the rocky ground before him was going to make hoof prints appear, Slim decided. No amount of wishing, waiting, and willing tracks into existence would make them materialize in stone. A sharp shake of his head, and Slim turned to face the sheriff further down the hill. "No, nothing here!" he shouted upwind, cupping gloved hands around his mouth. "Anything down there?"

"Dunno! Come take a look!"

Shouted words triggered a hopeful rush, and Slim skidded down the slope, careful of loose stones. "What'd you find, sheriff?" Flushed from the cold and out of breath, Slim's sky blue eyes followed the lawman's pointing finger impatiently.

"The ground's so weeded an' turned up that I can't be sure. That look like hooves to you?"

Stepping from the rocky slope onto a grassy stretch of earth, Slim knelt by the spot. He ran the leather fingers of his gloves lightly over brittle, iced blades of grass. He couldn't be sure, but those impressions did look an _awful_ lot like horses had been through there. "Grass is crushed here," he observed, thinking out loud. "The tracks are the right distance and spacing for horses. There's no clear print, as he ground is hard and grassy, but if I gave it my best guess... I'd say four horses had been through here."

"That one's got an irregular gait," Sheriff Parker added quickly, mentally sorting the mess of tracks. "Kind of like his rider's unconscious, and the animal's being led." His shoulder's tightened, one hand rubbing against his holster. "Couldn't be anybody but your friend Harper."

Slim nodded, his jaw clenching apprehensively. His gloved fingers rubbed against each other restlessly, fists clenching and relaxing rhythmically. His eyes ran across the horizon, searching for some sign, some building or camp. "How well do you know this area, sheriff?"

"'Bout as well as a man can, I reckon," Parker replied evenly, lifting his hat and scratching his head. "I've chased outlaws clear up into those mountains up yonder."

"Are there any cabins or line shacks in the direction these tracks are headed?" the rancher asked hopefully, brows knitting anxiously.

"Well... yeah, I know of a few places out that way. If we don't lose sight of the tracks for a while yet, I think I can narrow it down to a couple of places."

Relief coursed through Slim's veins, draining tension from his neck and shoulders. "How long will it take?"

"You can figure we'll lose the tracks up ahead. There's a rocky spot in the hills, and these tracks head straight for it. There's about three places that direction that they might be holed up. That is, if they're holed up in some cabin somewhere, and not camped in the woods someplace."

Slim nodded. Searching that many places could take all day. They might get lucky and find Jess on the first try... or they might not find him for some time. All Slim could do was hope and pray that his partner lasted that long; without knowing what Jess had gotten himself drug into, there was no way of knowing if the younger man was still alive, or if he was already dead.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I'm sorry Slim isn't getting much screen time, but I absolutely LOVE writing Jack's character, and interactions between the Harper brothers. So this will be another Slim-less chapter... don't worry, he'll have a much bigger part soon. :) Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

"Hey."

The dark head lifted sharply, accompanied by a grunt of pain. Jess inhaled sharply, letting the breath hiss out through clenched teeth. That was Jack's voice, jarring him into clarity. Dadgum, he must have drifted out of it again. "Mmm?"

"I said 'when's the last time you ate'?" Jack's tight smile didn't completely mask the spark of concern in his eyes. "Your stomach sounds like a wounded grizzly."

Right on cue, another loud growl rumbled Jess's insides. "I... I don't know, it's been..." Brows knitting in confusion, he trailed off, intently concentrating on the floor. How long had he been there? He'd reached Creston late Thursday night, and had planned on eating in the saloon... "Thursday, 'round noon. No, that ain't right. Casey gave me a strip of jerky prob'ly six hours or so 'fore you got here. I been given water every now and then, too."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Jess, it's Saturday morning. Been almost two full days since your last square meal."

"If coffee and burnt beans counts as a square meal," Jess mumbled tiredly. "I ain't all that hungry, some more water'll do me just fine."

Skeptical eyebrows raising, Jack refrained from a concerned reply. He answered instead with a small smile, steadily working at his bonds.

Jess roughly cleared his throat, swallowing thickly against mounting thirst. "Jack..." The word sounded harsh and grating, spoken from a bone-dry throat. "Are you gonna go along with Ansem? You gonna help him with this robbery?"

"Of course he is. Aren't you, Jack?"

There it was again. That slow, callous voice that could make a man's skin crawl like nothing else. Words seemed to roll off the outlaw's tongue like acid. He seemed to be more ghost than man, moving inaudibly and appearing almost out of nowhere.

"How about some water for my brother, then we'll talk?" Jack had mastered the art of facial expressions; his hardened poker face never wavered, copper gaze resting coolly on his ex-leader.

A yellowed grin was turned Dover's way. "Give the gunslick some water," Ansem ordered pithily, amusement lacing his tone.

Jess swallowed again, this time out of uneasiness rather than thirst. Something in Ansem's tone, the look that passed between the two, didn't sit right with him.

Dover filled the water-dipper and reached toward Jess. "Here, friend. Have a _drink_."

A flick of the outlaw's wrist, and lukewarmth washed over the younger Harper's face, running down his neck and under his collar. He sputtered, choleric with indignation, and shook water from his eyes. The defiant set of his jaw drew callous laughter from the outlaw foursome.

"When I get loose, Ansem, I'll kill you with my bare ha-"

"Jess."

One word was enough to silence the hot-blooded Texan, to quell his red-hot temper. Jack's tone was stern, but quiet, catching the attention of the whole room.

"Give him a drink of water."

Ansem's tongue ran thoughtfully over his teeth as he mulled over the elder Harper's demand. Some of the heartless pleasure drained from his glittering black glare. "Alright," he conceded warily, hesitant to give his prisoner too much power. "Water, then we talk a deal."

Jack nodded curtly. "That's right."

This time the dipper was brought to Jess's lips, and refreshing liquid coursed over his dry lips and tongue. He glared sullenly upward, regarding Dover with contempt.

"Now can we talk?" Ansem's arms folded across his chest impatiently.

"Far as I'm concerned, there ain't no more talkin' to be done," Jack spat bitterly. "I'm out, Ansem."

Glittering black eyes rested, unblinking, on the elder Harper's face. "I won't take no for an answer."

"Why can't you pull this off yourself? It ain't about the money... this is about me, ain't it?" Jack clenched his jaw, repressing the ire that rose up inside of him. "You just can't stand that I got away from you."

The outlaw leader regarded Jack without expression for a long, silent moment. "I might've let you go. That is, if I'd had the dough from the heist to soothe my anger. But that robbery where you deserted? We had a haul of forty thousand packed into those saddlebags... but then you had to go and deliver that money right back to the sheriff on your way out of town." Ansem's tight-lipped expression darkened. "So the way I see it, you owe me forty thousand dollars."

"Maybe I don't see it that way," Jack replied wryly. "Maybe I'm not convinced you'll let me go after I've helped you with this job."

Casey snorted, nudging the ex- gang member with the toe of his boot. "Well _maybe_ you don't got a whole lotta choices here, Harper. If you wanna stay livin'-"

"Shut up, Casey." The outlaw leader's chilling glare leapt from Jack to Casey in the blink of an eye, silencing him instantly. His gaze slid downward, resting once more on his former safe cracker. "You always were a smart one. No, I won't let you go after this job, 'cause while forty thousand was all you stole from me... well, there's _interest_."

"Y'know what, Ansem? I ain't interested in your heist. You can go ahead and kill me... that's what you aim to do anyway, eventually, ain't it?"

"Maybe so." Ansem's jaw tightened, anger defining his features. "But not yet. I need you, Jack. But your brother... I'm afraid he's too much trouble too keep around if you won't cooperate."

Jess eyed Ansem's underlings with a note of satisfaction, watching them struggle to contain their jabs and snide remarks, unwilling to risk falling out of their leader's good graces. He, on the other hand, was already on Ansem's bad side; he didn't have much to lose. "Don't go along with him on my account. I'd just as soon die today as I would tomorrow."e, He

"Jack." The outlaw leader's tone was almost a purr, the name hatefully rolling from his tongue. "I'm sure you remember that bank holdup two years ago, in Laredo?"

The words had an immediate effect, subtle as it was. Recognition seemed to jar him in his seat; Jack's eyes widened a fraction before he regained control of his expression and hardened his features once more. "I remember," he grated.

"So you remember what I did to that bank manager when he wouldn't open the safe for us?" Ansem's wickedly pleased smile widened. Jack's nod of affirmation didn't seem to satisfy him. "Go on, Harper. Tell your brother what happened."

"Ansem broke his hands." Jack met Jess's eyes coldly, repressing the fear that threatened to well up and spill over. "Smashed 'em with his gun butt."

Knife-sharp apprehension struck Jess square in the chest. His heart beat like a bat out of hell, pulsing in his ears. _Ansem, you sadist... just you wait. I'm going to enjoy beating the life out of you._

"See, Jack... the man had to be punished because he refused to follow my orders. You've openly defied me, despite my earnest threats against both you and your brother." Ansem's eyes flashed. His hand brushed leather, calloused fingers stroking his holster. "Lucky for you, I need your hands in top condition, or you're of no use to me."

"Yeah, real lucky." Amber eyes rolled, casting their dark gaze downward.

"Tell me, Jack, what would a gunfighter do with a ruined gun hand?"

Raw fear spiked through the sandy-haired man's chest, drawing his piercing glare straight ahead. Dover and Casey had already begun to move, loosing Jess's right hand and pinning it to the table beside him. Casey's stranglehold reduced struggles to a minimum, and Dover leaned on the muscular forearm for all he was worth.

Muscle bulged in Jess's arm, veins standing out in his neck. The stock of Hank's rifle was poised to strike when a sharp demand split the air.

"Ansem! Stop!"

A hand raised sharply, and all stilled.

"Yes, Harper?" Satisfaction was evident on the outlaw's face, gleaming in his shadowed eyes.

"...Alright."

"You're weak, Harper. You know that?"

"Sure, Ansem." The words were ambiguously flat. Gold and black lingered, the mutual stare lasting moments longer, then Ansem turned on his heel and stalked outside.

To his credit, Jess managed to keep his expression neutral as his hand was jerked back into place, none too gently. The only evidence of pain was in his eyes – their dull glassiness – and the grim set of his mouth. He fixed Ansem's goons with a withering glare as they retreated outside to ready the necessary supplies for the robbery.

"Why'd you give in so quick?" The younger man tried to bite back the note of disappointment, but it slipped past his defenses. "Not that I mind; I hate pain as much as anyone... but Jack, you caved awful fast. It didn't look good."

"I'm moved by your concern for my image."

Jess scowled deeply. "You know what I mean."

"Mmhmm." The sandy head bobbed, indicating distracted agreement. "You think I look like a pushover with no backbone." When that earned him only silence, Jack licked his lips nervously. "I've seen Ansem in his element, kid, and it ain't pretty."

A sudden draft forced its way under the door, and Jess steeled himself against the dropping temperature.

"Look at it this way. Ansem wasn't goin' to ease up on you 'til I agreed to help him. Right?"

"Right." Spoken with a fraction of hesitance, the word was barely audible.

"Would you rather I had let him go at you for hours and _then_ caved, or given in right away and saved you a broken hand and who knows what else?"

"But now Ansem knows how to control you. He'll jerk you 'round like a puppet on a string, Jack." Blue eyes drifted shut, a rough sigh brushing over his lips. "Don't let him do that to you. Y'know, you don't have to worry about me."

"'Course I do. I'm your big brother." Jack's shoulders suddenly jerked, mouth curving into a satisfied smile. "It's my job to come through for you when you need it most."

His face clouding with confusion, Jess opened his mouth to question the sudden change in his brother's expression and tone. "What..."

Jack's hands were in front of him before Jess grasped what had happened, and he made short work of the ropes around his ankles. "Let's stop worryin' 'bout Ansem pushin' me around, kid, and let's get outta here."

"You ol' son of gun." The astonished pride in Jess's voice was audible, and he broke into a wide grin. "How'd you manage it? Hank ties a good knot."

Standing carefully, Jack playfully wiggled his fingers. "Like when we was kids. Magic hands, remember?"

Jess remembered all too well. None of the younger Harpers had been able to figure how Jack could get in all those locked rooms and cupboards. They'd been in worshipful awe of their older brother when he informed them that he had 'magic hands' that let him get into any shed or chest he pleased.

"Those magic hands always did come in handy, didn't they?" The dark-haired man sucked in a sharp breath, setting his jaw against the sudden jarring movement at his wrists. Behind him, Jack muttered a curse.

"Sorry, kid, I'll try to be more gentle."

"Don't worry about it," Jess ground out through clenched teeth. "We ain't got time to worry 'bout comfort."

The ropes at his wrists fell away within moments. Jess moved immediately, gritting his teeth as stinging pain spread like wildfire through his limbs. A groan slipped past his lips, and Jack was supporting him in an instant.

"Wait, Jess."

"There's no time! They could be back any minute, Jack. I'll be fine as soon as my legs start workin' again, I promise." Jess strode purposefully toward the back door, wincing as pins and needles ran up his legs. "See? I'm fine."

Jack's hand on his collar stopped him in his tracks. "You won't make it far with that shoulder hurtin' like it is. Let me take a look."

Jess shrugged the hand off, jerking the door open. "After we're a safe distance from Ansem."

"Now." The elder Harper's voice was firm and hard. "That shoulder-"

"Can wait," Jess finished, just as firmly. "I'll feel a heck of a lot better once we're far away from here, Jack. My shoulder ain't a problem."

Jack let out a slow breath, his eyes darting around the cabin restlessly. His fingers rubbed together, fast and anxious. "Alright, kid. You win. But the minute we're holed up somewhere safe..." Jack extended a hand, narrowing his eyes. "You have to let me take a good look at you. Deal?"

Jess grasped the hand firmly, pumping it once. "You got it."

* * *

 **A/N: And... review! I love you all, thank you for your support. (Also, let me know if this chapter doesn't read quite right. I wrote it completely backwards, from end to beginning, so I hope it flows properly!)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** **A few people have commented on the relationship between Jess and Jack... I enjoy reading your thoughts, a few have actually given me ideas that have helped the story along! I know it may feel odd to a lot of you to see Jess trust someone so implicitly, and actually listen to Jack in a way he doesn't listen to anyone else... but it makes me positively giddy with excitement to make Jess have that kind of bond with someone.  
**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

 _Bloodlines run deep._

Only now, crouched low beside rotted wooden logs that made up the outlaws' corral, did Jess stop to think about family ties. Every moment since he'd been taken had become part of a tumultuous whirlwind; emotions, shocking revelations, and a sudden reunion that left him reeling. It felt good to stop, to stretch. He'd barely crossed the hundred feet of yard between cabin and corral before thudding steps took their toll and nausea hit. Of course, there was no way in blue blazes he'd let on about it to Jack. Stubborn Harper pride wouldn't allow it. Jack had pressed on, following the treeline, slipping around to the front of the cabin to see if Ansem and the others were anywhere in sight.

Cold stung his face, keeping him from slipping into a blissful haze of unawareness. With numb fingers, he clung to the rough wooden railing, mulling over the mystery that was his older brother. Ten years, no communication between them... and yet, to Jess's awed surprise, the bond between them hadn't weakened. That bond withstood the test of time, and Jess found it easy to fall back into the role of 'little brother'. Following Jack's orders and letting him take the lead felt natural, overriding Jess's instinctual drive to do things his own way. There'd never been anyone closer to him than Jack; he hadn't formed another bond anywhere close to that one, an indelibly close friendship, until coming to the Sherman ranch.

His relationship with Slim was as near to the brotherly bond he and Jack shared as any other relationship he'd formed since striking out on his own. Though it wasn't the unbreakable bond he had with Jack, he and Slim were close. Something in the way his partner welcomed him into the Sherman family had struck a nerve, made a crack in the stone wall that guarded Jess's emotions. Working alongside the taller man every day, hearing the easy banter between them, Jess had wondered what it was about Slim Sherman that caused him to let his guard down and form a real brotherly bond.

Less than two months into his employment, Jess had finally put his finger on it. Slim reminded him of Jack, in a way; the only other man he'd unconditionally trust with his life. His partner was the voice of reason, talking him out of going off half-cocked when he was riled; even physically restraining him when necessary. Slim was everything a brother ought to be and more, stepping easily into that role. And Jess, to his initial surprise, allowed his friend to assume that position, quickly coming to view him as the brother he'd lost when he left home. It was good to have a family again, though Slim, Andy, and Jonesy hadn't come close to replacing the brothers, sisters, and parents he'd lost that day, when Frank Bannister came to the Harper spread.

Doggone it, what he wouldn't give to have Slim here right now.

Jess lifted his head sharply; a small sound, the slightest thump, caught his attention... like boots on frozen dirt.

He turned sharply, cradling his left arm. "Jack? Is th-"

A rough, calloused hand caught him at the throat, pressing his back against the wooden railing. Casey's face was inches from his own; hot breath, saturated with the bitter smell of coffee, hit him square in the face.

"Thought you could escape?"

Jess coughed. The strangled sound forced its way past the constricting hand with difficulty. "Mad 'cause we didn't... didn't stop t'say... goodbye?" he choked out, the rasped words nearly lost in the wind.

"Tell me where that yellow-bellied brother of yours went, Harper." Casey shook him once, malice dancing in his eyes as they narrowed.

"The heck I will." Drawing a strained, wheezing breath, Jess clamped his good hand down on Casey's wrist, using what little leverage he had to ease the hold.

"If you don't quit playin', I'll yell for Hank." Grabbing a fistful of Jess's collar, the outlaw leaned back, holding him at arm's length. "Where's Jack?"

Jess's hand trembled slightly, limited oxygen taking its toll. Dark spots flickered at the edge of his view, and Casey's face faded in and out of focus. He blinked away the water that welled up, finally closing his eyes.

"One more time, Harper, where's Jack?"

"Right here."

The new voice was rich and familiar, followed by a dull thud. Casey's hand fell away immediately. The fog fringing his vision began to clear, and Jess drew in a long, ragged breath. A firm hand helped him upright as he coughed, air rushing through his lips in harsh bursts.

"Thanks."

Brows knitting in confusion, Jess looked up at his brother, roughly clearing his throat. "Thanks? It's me that oughta be thankin' you!"

"For distractin' him, I mean," Jack explained, unconsciously tightening his grip on the short branch he'd used on Casey.

"Didn't have much choice in the matter." Jess laughed once, a choked sound. "What'd you find?"

Jack opened the corral gate, hefting a saddle onto Jess's bay. "Ansem 'n' Dover went to get some nitro for the robbery. I came across Hank by the well an' knocked him out, too."

Jess followed his brother through the corral gate. With his right hand, he struggled to lift one of the outlaws' saddles without jarring his injured arm.

"Fool kid. Gimme that." Jack lifted the saddle with a grunt, tossing it over the back of a spotted gray. "You can finish saddlin' the bay. He's yours, right?"

"Yeah." Jess fumbled with the cinch, drawing it snug under Traveller's belly. "How'd y'know?"

Jack smiled, making short work of saddling his own horse. "Looks like the kind you always liked. Small and strong." He watched intently as Jess finished preparing his mount, working to fasten the bridle one-handed. "Need a hand?"

"I got it," the younger man muttered, gripping the reins in his hand. "I could use a leg up, though."

Jack's interlaced fingers easily boosted the lithe younger man into his saddle. He gripped the saddle horn tightly, carefully resting his left arm in front of him, where it could lie immobile. "What're you doin'?" Turning in his saddle, he watched as Jack crouched by Casey's inert form.

"Gettin' his gun." Jack straightened up, a worn leather belt dangling from his hand. "You're a sight thinner'n Casey here. Think it'll work?"

Jess took the belt, buckling it around his hips. "It could stand another notch, but it'll stay on." He tested the balance of the shiny revolver, giving it an approving nod. "Nice piece. He takes real good care of it."

Jack swung into his saddle. "You still doin' alright?"

 _My shoulder? Heck no, it's not alright._ "Yeah. I'll be okay 'til we can afford to rest."

Clearly unconvinced, Jack nodded curtly. "If you say so."

Jess urged his mount forward, trotting out of the pen. Jack followed behind, herding the outlaws' horses in front of him. They bolted for the trees when he gave them a slap on the backside with his hat, which he then settled back over wisps of sandy-brown.

"How long d'you think they'll be out?"

Copper eyes flickered, lightened by Jack's tired smile. "Hank and Casey? I didn't hit 'em too hard. I figure we've got a few minutes 'fore they come to."

Jess hefted the revolver on his hip, relieved to have the comforting weight hanging at his side again. He and Jack had more than a fighting chance with two good revolvers and a couple of gun belts freshly stocked with ammunition. "C'mon then, 'fore Ansem gets back."

"Lead on, little brother."

* * *

Hard riding hadn't done Jess's shoulder any favors. As it was, he found it increasingly difficult to stay in the saddle. His right hand, tightly grasping the reins, was sweat-slicked and tired.

Behind him, Jack had been quiet for most of the ride, but easily volunteered answers when Jess broke the silence with a question about his past, or about his life in Ansem's gang. It wasn't until they'd ridden for nearly two hours that Jack finally spoke first.

"Let's stop for a minute."

Jess glanced backward, expecting to see clear exhaustion lining his brother's face. Jack still looked fresh, far from needing a rest. If he wanted to stop now, it certainly wasn't for his own sake. Realizing why the older man wanted to stop, Jess gave a fervent shake of his head.

"We'll keep goin'," he grated resolutely, jaw working furiously, perspiration glistening across his forehead. "M'fine."

"'Fine' ain't quite the word I'd use, kid. Come on, don't think you're foolin' anyone!" Jack's pitch rose with underlying wonderment. He touched his spurs to the light, spotted flanks of his mare, urging her to pull up alongside Traveller. "We're stoppin' now."

Eyes falling shut for a brief moment, Jess shook his head firmly. "Later."

 _"Now."_ A forceful timbre deepened his voice; low and unwavering, his tone commanded obedience. "I ain't playin', Jess."

The rigid obstinacy drained from Jess's figure, replaced with grudging submission. There was no point to arguing with Jack, and he knew it. Following the direction of a sharply pointed finger, he dismounted with great care and lowered himself onto an old stump. "Make it quick, will you?"

Jack offered no reply. Instead, he knelt by his brother and ran expert hands along his shoulder, gently feeling out the injury.

"I can see why you're a safe cracker," Jess murmured softly, feeling the lightness of his brother's fingers. "A touch like that's a gift."

Jack's mouth quirked. "It's come in handy more'n once." A final probing motion, and his hand drew away. "Nothin' broken. Just dislocated."

"A quick fix, huh?"

"Don't sound so relieved. It ain't gonna be fun, that's for sure." Jack sat back on his heels, studying his brother's pained expression. "You ready?"

Jess raked an anxious hand through his hair, giving only a quick nod in response.

"I'll try'n be quick about it," the sandy-haired man promised, steering his brother to the nearest tree. "Lean back against the trunk. You ever had anythin' reset like this before?"

The dark head jerked sideways, an audible swallow preceding his answer. "No. But I seen it done."

"Try'n relax. It'll go a heck of a lot easier that way." Jack lifted the limp left arm in his hands, positioning it carefully. "Lemme know if it starts hurtin' too much, okay?"

"Sure." Pain-glazed blue disappeared from view as Jess closed his eyes, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree. His jaw pulsed, muscle twitching nervously.

 _You're tough, kid. I'm sorry._ One hand was braced against the injured shoulder, and Jack gripped his brother's wrist tightly with the other... and pulled.

Jess's back arched immediately, his head pressing back against rough wood. An initial, unguarded sound escaped his throat - like the beginnings of a moan - but it was cut off sharply. The slender man's ragged breathing seemed unnaturally loud to Jack as he worked, teeth gritted hard. He wanted to stop, to let Jess catch his breath... but if Jess wasn't saying a word, as clear as the pain was etched across his face, then Jack would press through.

Nothing could have possibly sounded sweeter in that moment than the hollow pop from Jess's shoulder. Rubbing one sweat-slicked hand on his pants, Jack gently lowered the arm. "You okay now?"

Testing the joint gingerly, Jess nodded. "I think so... thanks."

"Sure." Jack gave his brother's good shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then stood abruptly, reaching his mount in a few long strides. "I snagged a set of saddle bags 'fore we left. They're loaded with coffee, beans, an' jerky."

"What's the brand on 'em?" Jess asked, bringing his head up sharply. "Is the letters 'SR'?"

Jack inspected the dark leather with surprise. "Well... yeah, it is. They yours?"

"Mmhmm. That's the Sherman brand."

"Sherman...?"

Hearing the confusion in Jack's tone, Jess realized he hadn't spoken a word about Slim since he'd been reunited with his brother. "My boss," he explained quickly, taking the strip of jerky the elder Harper offered. "Well, partner is more like it. I've worked on the Sherman ranch outside of Laramie for over a year now."

"Laramie ain't that far. A day's ride, maybe," Jack observed, studying the countryside, streaked with the long shadows of dusk. "Is it a good place? This Sherman fella treats his men alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's a real good place. The folks there are like family to me."

Approval softened Jack's features, and he sat down across from his brother. "Good. I've worried about you, kid. Ever since you left, and I started to hear gunfighters talk about you. About how fast you were. I thought you'd have a hard time findin' a decent life."

"I got a life as decent as any, now," Jess promised earnestly, swallowing the last of his jerky. "That's a heck of a lot better'n thinkin' I was dead, like I thought you were."

"I'm real sorry 'bout that." Jack combed his hair away from his face with his fingers, taking a long draw from his canteen. "I didn't know the army'd made a mistake 'til years later, just afore joinin' up with Ansem. I woulda tried to get in touch, but I figured if I did, Ansem would know where to find you and then he'd use that later, if I ever got outta line." His mouth twisted into a wry smile. "Not that my efforts helped any. He still found you without a whole lotta trouble."

Taking the canteen from Jack, the smaller man stared down at it for a long moment, considering all that had happened. "Y'know, Jack... I'm kinda glad, in a way, that he found me." Seeing his brother's bewildered expression, he quickly continued, "Not that I'm glad- no, what I mean is... I guess I'm tryin' to say, I'm glad t'see you again. I... I sorta missed you."

Soulful blue met coppery-gold; the meaningful look the two brothers exchanged easily expressed what the quiet words were truly saying. _I missed you a lot, Jack. An awful lot._

Jack nodded once, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. "I _sorta_ missed you too, kid."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This was a really fun one to write... I've been planning this particular scene for quite some time now, so I hope you love the following events as much as I do :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Slim was mad enough to spit nails. Mad enough to _strangle_ someone. Not the sheriff crouched beside him, though he was, unfortunately, the only man on hand.

No, Slim wanted to get his hands on whoever had taken his partner. He wanted to beat the sense out of the cagey characters for being... well, for being exactly that. Too dad gum shrewd and cagey. Heading towards the cabins Sheriff Parker told him about had led them nowhere. They'd picked up tracks on the other side of the rocky terrain, alright; a jumbled mess of hoof-shaped impressions, all crossing over and around each other so many times that it would take a miracle to separate one set of hoof prints from another, much less figure out where they ultimately led.

Sheriff Parker wanted to search all the cabins and shacks in that direction, a small handful of places. While he always followed a lawman's orders, the plan didn't sit right with Slim. His gut told him they could search those cabins from roof to cellar, but they wouldn't find Jess.

The men who'd taken his pard were smart enough to scramble their tracks; there was a distinct possibility that they were smart enough to leave this mess of hoof prints just to buy time. The tracks probably led nowhere.

"Parker!" Slim shouted, hands tightening on the reins. "Parker, hold up!"

The sheriff turned in his saddle, cocking his head expectantly. "Yeah?"

"I don't think Jess is that way." Slim gripped the handle of his revolver, giving it a quick tug. "We're lookin' the wrong direction, sheriff."

"Oh?" Parker's arms crossed over his saddle horn, and he leaned closer to the taller man. "How do you know that?"

"You believe in hunches?"

The lawman straightened up, nodding slowly. "Where your best friend is concerned, I think I do. Alright, where do you suggest we look?"

"I don't really know." Slim scanned the countryside, making a full, deliberate circle with his mount. "To the east, there's nothin' but rocks. A horse could break a leg out there. I'd put my money down that they took him west, through the woods."

"It's dang near impossible to find anythin' through there, Sherman. The trees are so thick an' tight that there ain't much place for a camp of any kind."

"But do you know of any spots they might be?"

Parker looked down at his hands, recalling the forest to memory. "Yeah. Yeah, there might be one. I think there was a cabin a few miles into the woods. Old and abandoned, it may have caved in on itself since I saw it. If it's still standing, it'd be as good a place as any for kidnappers to hole up."

"Alright then." Slim grinned widely, the expression alleviating some of the exhaustion that darkened his eyes. "Lead on, sheriff."

* * *

"Creston's real close." Again, it was Jack who ended the lull in conversation. "We need food, supplies..." Hooded eyes glinted with amusement. Leaning close to his riding partner, Jack drew in a deep breath, his handsome features twisting into an exaggerated grimace. "And you, little brother, need a bath."

" _Younger_ brother." The correction flew from Jess's mouth without a thought, instinctively. Coming from anyone but Jack, being labeled as 'little' would have been an insult, probably meant to goad him into a fight. The brotherly, teasing undertone to Jack's comment was a welcome reminder of how things had been ten years ago... how things were now. "You ain't exactly a basket o' roses yourself."

Jack made a show of sniffing his shirt sleeve, smoothing out wrinkled, rust-colored fabric with a light hand. "No, but I smell a darn sight better'n you do."

"We can't go to Creston."

Sand-colored brows lifted, drawing slightly together. "Why not?"

"You said Ansem an' Dover went to get nitro, right?" Jess asked slowly, running a hand tiredly over his face. "Where d'you think they'd go to get it?"

"Creston." Jack clapped his brother on the back, his mouth curving upward with approval. "You always were a smart one, kid."

"Sinclair ain't that far. We can be there by afternoon," Jess suggested, though his baritone gravel lacked its usual edge. Time spent with Ansem was reaching peak effect - very little food and water, and a decent beating from Casey and his friends. "After waterin' the horses and gettin' necessary supplies, and if we make real good time, we can be in Laramie a few hours after dark."

"Or," Jack continued firmly, pinning the younger Harper with a steely, no-nonsense glare, "we can stay in Sinclair overnight so _you_ can rest- and don't even think-" he added sharply, seeing defiance cloud the smaller man's face "-about arguin' over this one. I'm puttin' my foot down."

Jess snorted quietly, restlessly rubbing his holster. "Well, if you put your foot down, I reckon that settles it."

Sarcasm wasn't lost on Jack. He frowned, assessing Jess with a quick glance. "I reckon it does. I promise we'll get you to Laramie by tomorrow morn-"

Jack's promise ended with a grunt, as his back connected with hard-packed earth. Out of nowhere, a man - more like a blur - had sailed through the air, shoulder hitting Jack square in the middle; his momentum and size carried them both over the spotted gray mare and to the ground.

"Wha- Jack?" Sliding from his saddle, Jess's gun practically leapt into his hand, his thumb stroking at the hammer impatiently. The two men were tangled together, tussling so that Jess couldn't get a clear shot for fear of hitting Jack.

"You're a... a new one," Jack panted, struggling to stay atop the taller man. "Didn't know Ansem... had taken on... anyone new."

His opponent grunted, boots scraping grooves in the dirt as he dug his heels in. "I don't give a _dang..._ about... whoever it is... you're talkin' about," the bigger man gasped, twisting beneath Jack, "unless he's got somethin' to do... with my... my partner!"

"Your partner?" the elder Harper echoed, not quite comprehending what his attacker was implying. Adrenaline surged through his arms, one hand hold slipping. He caught sight of the massive fist flying toward his head in the half second before it connected; anxious words tumbled out in a rush, rising to a panicky pitch. "Jess, a little help?"

Watching events unfold with surreal slowness, it was as if Jess stood outside of time. Everything fell into place. Jess realized what was going on, focusing on the face that had been hidden from view until now. He _knew_ Jack's attacker. He'd recognize that crushing right hook anywhere. "Slim?" The name caught in his throat, and he said again, more fervently, "Slim!"

As Jess was putting pieces together, Slim was having his own simultaneous revelations. He would have dismissed his opponent's call for help if it hadn't been for the name he used. _Jess._ The man had called for Jess's help... realization hit home in the same instant his fist landed. This man wasn't one of Jess's kidnappers, he was... well, Slim wasn't entirely sure _who_ he was, but he knew they were all on the same side.

Realization came too late; Slim's fist was already in motion. Amber eyes flew wide open, anticipating the connection of flesh on flesh, not quick enough to move. It was all he could do to roll with the punch, grimacing at the warm feel of blood on his lip as knuckles glanced across his cheek.

Jess's knees hit the ground in the same moment as Jack fell backward, twisting to catch himself on his outstretched hands. The younger man gripped his brother's shoulder, sapphire eyes clouding with concern. "Jack! Hey, talk to me. You okay?"

"Sure, kid." Whispered words brushed across Jack's bruised and blood-wet lip, but his faint smile never faded. "Just fine. I take it this is your boss?"

"Yeah," Jess muttered, turning his tired gaze to Slim. "Howdy, pard. Good to see y'again."

Slim nodded shortly, his eyes darting back and forth between the brothers. "It's real good to see you, Jess. I take it this is... your...?"

"Brother," the dark-headed man replied, swiping his sleeve across his forehead. "Jack Harper, meet Slim Sherman."

 _Brother?_ Again, the cryptic telegram was brought to remembrance. _In Creston. Trouble. Three men, looking for my brother. Jess._ So this was the elusive brother, the man who'd gotten Jess drug into whatever mess he was in. Slim wanted nothing more than to ask the myriad of questions whirling through his head: _Why were you taken, pard? Who did it? Are you okay? How in blue blazes is your brother alive and what kind of trouble is he wrapped up in?_ Instead, he settled for an introduction. Answers could wait until they were all safely back home.

"Jack... I'm sorry, if I'd known..." Repressing questions that arose for the present, Slim extended a careful hand, warily watching the elder Harper's face.

Pulling his hand away from his lip, Jack barely gave the blood a second glance. He gripped Slim's hand tightly, rising to his feet. "No harm done. You were just protectin' my brother. For that, I'm proud to know you."

Slim pumped the gentle hand once. "You were doin' the same. So... I'm proud to know you, too." His gaze lingered on Jack's split lip for a moment more, then flickered to Jess. "You don't look so good, pard."

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"I've heard that line before, and it's never fooled me," Slim replied lightly, taking in Jess's battered appearance with a quick glance. "You look like you could fall asleep on your feet, and you're favorin' that left arm. We've gotta get you to a doc."

"So I can hear him tell me somethin' I already know?" Jess scowled, vigorously shaking his head at the thought of seeing an unfamiliar physician unnecessarily. "No thanks, pard. There's nothin' he can do for me, 'sides tell me to rest up."

Slim smiled thinly, squeezing Jess's uninjured shoulder. "And we both know how you are about followin' doctor's orders."

"So why waste the time seein' a doc? Buy me a steak dinner an' I'll be fit as a fiddle," Jess promised, patting his stomach. As if on cue, a low growl punctuated his statement.

Jack shook his head, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. "I would've thought his stubborn streak would give way to common sense now that he's grown," he confided to Slim, none too quietly. He winked at his brother, adding playfully, "Looks like he's even more hard-headed than before."

"You don't know the half of it," Slim agreed, fixing wary eyes on his new acquaintance. Jack's pearly-white smile and smooth mannerisms didn't sit well with him. The elder Harper seemed too slick and convivial, considering what he'd just been through. Maybe it was his coping mechanism, or maybe it was a front, to try and hide from Slim how much trouble the Harper brothers were really in. Whatever the case, Slim planned to keep Jack on a short leash, at least until he knew for sure what the man's angle was.

Jess was willing to make sacrifices for this man, even give his life if necessary; Slim could see in his vivid blue gaze how much he respected and admired his brother. Maybe Jack had honestly earned the younger man's respect. Maybe he really deserved it. Slim didn't care how much Jess thought the smooth-talking older man's life might be worth his own. Jack had gotten his partner into a mess of trouble, and Slim aimed to see Jess out of it alive, hang the price.

If it came down to one life or the other, Jess wouldn't be making any rash sacrifices. Slim would see to that.

* * *

 **A/N: Shoutout to my lovely reviewers - all I have in my head right now is a _very_ loose storyline, not much structure. So... I need ideas! If there's a scene you'd like to see in upcoming chapters, PM me (so as not to spoil it for others if I use your idea) or, if you're a guest user, leave ideas in reviews. I'm interested to hear what you all want to have happen!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Wow, I think this is one of the first chapters I've written all in one sitting, without jumping around from beginning to end. It's kind of satisfying, writing from start to finish, without leaving and then having to remember where the heck I was headed when I sit down again. XD Anyway, enjoy the next installment! I appreciate all the ideas I was given, and I'm getting pretty excited about some upcoming elements!**

* * *

Casey was worried, to say the least, about what Ansem would do when he returned to find the Harpers gone.

Heck... who was he kidding? 'Worried' didn't come near to describing the raw fear that twisted his gut, crawling up his back and down his arms like a snake. His leader was an animal, the kind of man Casey didn't _dare_ cross. He'd been with Ansem long enough to know what happened to men who weren't up to par, men who failed a task their leader entrusted them to carry out. Casey remembered the days when the gang had nearly a dozen members - ten money-hungry men who followed Ansem for his determination, as insane as the man was. Ten promising outlaws, ready to take on anything the law threw at them... until Ansem started getting testy and impatient, showing a complete lack of tolerance for anything less than precision and top form. He eliminated anyone who he considered unnecessary, shaving their numbers considerably.

No, 'worried' was a far cry from the terror he felt now.

After this slip-up - letting Ansem's prized safe cracker _and_ their leverage against him escape - Casey mentally prepared for the worst. He only prayed Ansem would be quick and merciful.

Beside him, Hank lifted a tarnished flask to whiskey-wet lips, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously with the force of his swallow. "Maybe Ansem'll go easy on us."

Casey snorted noisily, his eyes rolling white for a half-second as his eyelids fluttered low. "Like he went easy on every other man who slipped up? Maybe you feel different, but I'll take a quick bullet 'tween the eyes over any other punishment Ansem an' his twisted mind could conjure up."

Pressing his neckerchief to his face, Hank dried the whiskey droplets clinging to his mustache. "He needs us, Case. If he finishes us off, all he'll have is poor ol' Dover."

"I don't envy Dover a bit, bein' saddled with that lunatic all by his lonesome."

"Don't be so hopeless about it, Case. He'll keep us 'round 'til after this job, for sure."

"You're a real comfort." Casey let out a noisy breath through his nose, resting his head in his hands. "Now I've got a _longer_ period of time to wait for a bullet from Ansem's gun."

The following silence was uncomfortable, with Casey focusing intently on his chapped, red hands, raw from the cold. He wished Ansem had left Dover behind and taken Hank to Creston instead - Dover was better company. He knew when to talk and when to shut up. Hank hadn't learned to read Casey yet, to discern if he was in a conversational mood or not.

"We could run."

Hank's drawling suggestion only heightened the tense irritation keeping Casey rigid in his seat. "Great idea, Hank. Run off like the Harpers, an' have that animal on our trails. He's a better tracker'n I've ever seen... he'd find us inside of a week, no matter how hard we tried t' throw him."

"He'd be distracted by Jack an' his brother gettin' away."

"And that's why it could take up to a week for him to catch us," Casey explained slowly, each word formed with a venomous edge on his tongue. "If Harper weren't his priority, he'd be on us in two days, at the most."

"We could ride into Creston an' tell him what happened. He couldn't shoot us in front of witnesses." Hank peered into the open mouth of his flask, giving the old bottle a quick shake. A splash of whiskey spattered up inside, sounding light and tinny on thin metal.

Closing his eyes, Casey stifled a groan. "Witnesses don't matter to Ansem. 'Sides... maybe shootin's too quick for 'im."

Hank quieted at the prospect of being strangled, stabbed, beaten - killed by Ansem in a variety of ways, each more unpleasant than the one before.

"No point in ridin' into town anyway," Casey grumbled, watching the yard through the open door. "They're back."

Dover and Ansem each carried a wooden crate in their arms, keeping their movements smooth and fluid so as not to jolt the precious, deadly contents. Stepping across the threshold and into the musty cabin's dim interior, Ansem's eyes immediately fell on the two empty chairs that ought to have been holding a certain pair of captives.

"You're lucky I'm holdin' nitro, boys, or my hands would be 'round your throats right now."

 _Nice to see you too, boss,_ Casey thought bitterly, thanking his lucky stars for the delicate crate in Ansem's hands. His leader's death-growl of a greeting only further settled knotted despair in the pit of his stomach. "They got the drop on us."

"I can see that." Ire in his tone betrayed the outlaw's constant emotionless mask, the eerie calm to his features. Black eyes glittered with suppressed anger. "Care to tell me how?"

"I... I was focused on the brother, and Jack snuck up on me. Knocked me out." Casey grimaced, seeing the way Ansem's mouth twitched, the way he caressed the butt of his revolver.

"I _need_ Jack Harper. The only reason I'm not dealin' with you right here and now is 'cause I don't have time to waste. You too," he added sharply, whirling on Hank. "You catch the Harpers, and maybe I'll overlook your careless stupidity in lettin' 'em get away. If we don't find 'em... remember we've got two graves dug out back. I'd meant one for Jack's brother, and the other - eventually - for Jack himself. But the mood I'm in right now," Ansem grated, pausing to run his tongue across his teeth, "I don't care _who_ fills those holes."

* * *

'Welcome to Sinclair, population 71'.

No battered square of rotted wood had ever looked so welcoming to Slim as that sign, with chipped black letters barely visible against sun-faded gray wood. The town was small; a general store, hotel, cafe, and sheriff's office, with a few houses scattered throughout. It didn't have the friendly air that graced Laramie's streets, but it was the a _town_. That meant food, supplies, and a bed for the night.

Glancing to his left, Slim took in the sight of his partner; the smaller man's jaw was set determinedly, and he braced himself with weak, trembling hands tight on the saddle horn. The blond's eyes flicked further left, beyond Jess, and rested on the third member of their party.

Jack Harper. Slim was keen on hearing why Jess's older brother wasn't dead, as they'd all believed him to be. Even more so, he wanted to hear what kind of lawless, underhanded mess the elder Harper was involved in. Any brother that doesn't write or visit for ten years, then gets their only living kin close to killed - and from the looks of it, Jess had come awful close - was a man to be wary of.

The hotel was small and quiet, with a worn, old sign hanging askew in the window. 'Vacancy'. Slim drew his wallet from his vest pocket, checking its contents. Plenty of money for supplies, food, and the best room in the whole place. They'd long since missed the cattle auction, so the wad of cash Jess had withdrawn days prior was free for use.

"I'll take Jess and get us a room, if you want to stable the horse."

It was strange, hearing a voice so identical to Jess's in pitch, but without the younger man's distinctive gravel. Slim bit his lip lightly, carefully maintaining a neutral mask as he turned to Jack. "I can take care of the hotel room," he said, pointedly raising his wallet.

Jack's brows lifted slightly, remembering the empty pocket in his jacket. Ansem had taken his wallet right off the bat. "We'll _both_ get Jess settled," he compromised, recognizing the protective undertone to Slim's words, "and then I'll stable the horses if you want me to."

The suffocating tension of the exchange made Slim wish, for a fleeting moment, that he'd taken Sheriff Parker up on his offer to escort the trio into Sinclair. Another man to help diffuse arguments - which would inevitably ensue - would have been a welcome addition. Moments after Jack and Slim's rocky meeting, the lawman had caught up with them, been filled on who Jack was and what had happened, and then made his offer. Slim had instead turned him down, knowing Parker would be needed in Creston, with the outlaws still on the loose. So the sheriff had ridden back to town, promising to assemble a posse and look for Ansem and the others, and then wire Slim if they were caught. Which meant Jack and Slim were on their own, as Jess was in no shape to break up any fights.

"I don't care who helps me inside, long as someone gets to it!"

Jess's rough voice, lacking its usual strength, caught Slim's attention. Exchanging twin looks of guilt, Jack and Slim dismounted, moving as one to help Jess off his horse. If Jess was accepting - even _requesting_ \- help, he had to be bone-tired and sore as all get out. Two sets of hands reached him simultaneously, and Jess groaned down at the men below.

"I just need a body to lean on. You two are as bad as mother hens." Jess swung his leg over the saddle, biting back a cry as his ribs protested and his head swam. The beating he'd gotten from Ansem's goons - the rifle butt to the chin had just been the icing on the cake - was really starting to affect him. The repressed moan didn't go unnoticed by Slim or Jack.

The elder Harper also caught the glint in Slim's eye whenever their gazes met; the distrust underlying his friendly front. He was suppressing it for Jess, they both knew. The only reason Slim stayed civil toward the newest Harper, after what had happened to his partner, was his blood tie to Jess, and the way the younger man obviously looked up to his brother and trusted him without reservation. Slim would have to come to trust Jack, and the older man decided against pushing, against fighting Slim over their mutual concern for Jess.

When they reached the younger man at precisely the same moment, their eyes locking on each other... instead of pressing for the right to help his own flesh and blood, Jack moved his tender, ready hands away. He wanted nothing more than to help his brother, for sure, but he forced his steps backward, leaving room for Slim to support the slender Texan.

A protective arm wrapped around Jess's middle, Slim threw a glance back at Jack as he eased his partner up the short steps to the hotel porch. He nodded once, the movement barely noticeable.

In that moment, Jack thought he saw a bit of distrust in the taller man's eyes - that immovable wall - crumble away.

* * *

 **A/N: A little more insight into why Slim's having trouble warming up to Jack... and I don't blame him. He holds Jack responsible for what happened to Jess. And in that vein, Jack is picking up on Slim's hostility.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Your encouragement and support means the world to me. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.**

 **This is another chapter resulting from insomnia... I finished about 6 AM, so please point out any careless mistakes I may have missed.**

* * *

It was ironic, in a way, how peaceful Jess looked while he slept.

Dark lashes fringed over lightly defined cheekbones, and those deep, angry creases created by the constant grim set of his mouth faded almost completely. With his borrowed gun belt hanging off the bed post, lightly touching one limp hand, the slender young man looked... well, harmless. Slim laughed once, a wry smile ghosting across his lips. _Harmless_ was the last word he had ever though he would use to describe his partner. Jess, quick-tempered and headstrong, was anything but harmless.

But for all his rash tendencies and hair-trigger temper, he certainly looked the part of the innocent. The lithe form rarely stilled; Jess was constantly alive with tension, top-full of hot-blooded energy. Even now, lying near to motionless, his fingers still worked against each other, slow and deliberate. Every now and then, a leg would twitch, or the dark head would shift a fraction in any direction; small, subconscious movements. The steady rise and fall of his chest, bereft of labored wheezing, assured the tall blond that Jess was breathing easy and sleeping soundly.

They'd planned to eat after getting a room; Jess had no intention of letting Slim off the hook after his partner had agreed to treat him to a steak dinner. However eager Jess had been for a square meal, exhaustion won out. Constant tension, the flurry of excitement that carried him through the past several days, had drained his adrenaline reserves. His feeble ties to awareness snapped the second his head hit the pillows. And _boy_ did it feel good to sleep in something other than a straight-backed chair. Slim didn't doubt he'd sleep through most of the next morning, and he took small comfort in that.

The click of a key in the lock interrupted his tired musings. Slim didn't bother moving; he remained comfortably slumped in the stuffed armchair by the window, casting his eyes to the door. The faded wood swung inward, unoiled hinges creaking softly.

Bathed in ghostly gray-blue, the room was dark and quiet. The only sign of daylight streamed through the slightest opening between heavy drapes. Slim had drawn them shut when Jess collapsed onto the bed; dusk was still an hour or so away, and Slim didn't want the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun to keep Jess from sleeping. Slow footsteps scraped across wood flooring, a sure sign of fatigue. The figure that entered was slender, slow-moving, and shadowed.

"Horses are stabled." Jack's hand dropped from the doorknob to the buckle of his gun belt, unfastening the catch with one fluid movement. Falling loose, the leather belt trailed by his leg, dangling from a tenuous hand.

Silence ensued; thick, stagnant silence.

"Kid's asleep?"

"Mmhmm." Slim lowered heavy eyelids in lieu of a nod. Wisps of dirty blond fringed across his forehead, fallen from their previous, neatly combed position.

Jack dropped the frayed, well worn gun belt onto sun-faded bedclothes. Of the two beds in their leased quarters, once was taken by Jess - face-down, lying in spread-eagle fashion, he took up the whole of it. Even then, one booted foot overhung the edge of the mattress.

Slim laced his fingers behind his head, craning his neck to the side in an effort to work the dull ache that had started to make its presence known. As much as he wanted a good steak, it felt good to _sit -_ not to sleep, but to just _sit._ To sit and think; to formulate questions.

Jack followed Slim's eye line to the bed."We could rent a second room," he suggested, voicing an idea that had not only crossed Slim's mind earlier, but one that he had already decided against.

"No." The response was quick, almost cutting off the end of Jack's suggestion. Slim's eyes slid from the elder Harper to the younger, watching the dark-headed man sleep. "One room is plenty." _I'm not leaving Jess, and I'd bet money you're not either._

Jack nodded curtly. "I figured you'd feel that way." Glazed amber eyes dropped briefly, flicking from bed to chair. "I'll flip you for the bed."

"Don't bother. I'm already settled, I'll just stay here." Slim shifted against the firm cushioning of the armchair, finding a more comfortable position. "Toss me that quilt, will you?"

Weary copper eyes met Slim's baby blue, unspoken gratitude evident. "You sure?" Jack questioned lowly, fingering the quilt folded neatly across the second bed.

Jack hadn't escaped unscathed, though he'd fared considerably better than his younger brother. Deep purple bruising colored his cheek, just below the left eye. He swayed on his feet, albeit slightly, but it was clear that time with Ansem had taken its toll on Jack as well. While neither of the two had slept in a real bed in several days, Slim at least had the luxury of a bedroll and freedom of movement. Judging by the light markings scarring the other man's wrists, he'd slept in much the same manner Jess.

"Yeah." The blond head bobbed once.

"Thanks." Jack's gaze lingered for a moment, eyes narrowing imperceptibly as he studied the man before him. The slight upturn of his mouth enhanced his stare, giving it a doleful softness. "Y'know, Sherman-"

"Slim."

A nod of acknowledgement, a long draw of breath that visibly lifted his shoulders, and Jack absently set to unbuttoning his shirt. "Slim. I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier today."

Understatement must be a Harper trait, Slim decided, repressing a rueful smile. First there was Jess, downplaying every injury he sustained, treating a bullet wound like a bee sting, or a concussion like a minor headache. And now Jack, who had been thrown from his horse by over six feet of muscle and then taken a powerful blow to the jaw from a well-meaning rescuer; the elder Harper called that 'getting off on the wrong foot'.

When Slim didn't reply, the other man shrugged off his rust-colored cotton shirt, letting it fall to the floor, forgotten until morning. He scratched at the collar of a worn Henley undershirt, finally breaking his stare. "You don't like me much, do you?"

"I..." Taken off-guard, Slim groped for the right response. "Well... you're Jess's brother. If he trusts you, that's good enough..." _That's good enough for me,_ he'd started to say. A natural disinclination to lie stopped the words on his tongue.

Jack noted the catch in Slim's voice, correctly interpreting the abrupt break in his reply. "You don't like me 'cause of what happened to Jess. Right?"

"Jess was taken to get to _you._ " Acrid resentment underlying his tone was an unfamiliar taste, leaving a bitter sensation on his tongue. Slim's shoulders tightened. "Whatever trouble you're in, Jess paid for it. I'm responsible for my men... for my friends. I need to know what in blazes you've got my partner into."

"I owe you an explanation, don't I?" A long sigh brushing across his lips, Jack sank down onto the bed.

 _Darn right, you do._ Slim felt the muscles in his neck tighten, impatience growing. Biting his tongue, he reminded himself that snapping at Jack would get him nowhere, and he reined in his temper.

"I was a safe cracker."

Short, simple, and to the point. That was another trait Jack Harper had in common with his brother: concision. Neither were prone to lengthy, detailed explanations. Their stories were succinct and pointed.

Slim snorted, a derisive smile turning his lips. His eyes flickered upward, briefly landing on the plaster ceiling before returning to Jack. "I knew there was something off about you."

"I said _was,_ " Jack clarified, emphasizing the word. "I ran with a gang a while back, headed up by a man names Charles Ansem. I found out the hard way he don't let his men leave."

"You tried to bail... so he took Jess to bring you back," Slim deduced, nodding slowly as he pieced facts together. "How'd he know you'd show?"

"He didn't. It was a gamble." The elder Harper's expression hardened, and his tone lowered to match. "There was no way I would've left Jess there. You may think badly of me for not writin' or tryin' to get in touch over the years. Think what you want, but I didn't _abandon_ my brother."

Slim's silence spoke volumes, magnified by the glint in his bright blue eyes.

"I stayed away to protect him." Jack's voice was a whisper now, dropping abruptly from the sharp tone he'd risen to. "To protect him from Ansem... not that it did any good. Ansem knew what kind of hold he had over me, with Jess there, and would've forced me into another robbery if we hadn't escaped."

"So you would've done it? You'd have gone through with the robbery?" Weathered fingers rubbed together restlessly, and Slim watched the other man's features carefully, to see if the stoic poker face would slip.

Jack's eyes flashed with emotion, a muscle in his face twitching. "He's my _brother._ Of course I would've." Off came the boots, clunking against the floor in turn. The sandy-haired man slid beneath fresh linens, pausing to raise his brows at Slim. "Any more questions, or are you satisfied for now?"

"That's all," Slim replied tiredly, sliding down in the plush armchair. He pulled the quilt up under his chin, staring at the gray-white of the ceiling overhead, when a low, half-asleep voice caught his attention.

"Y'know, I've got a few questions of my own. I wanna make sure you're treatin' my brother right. You've gotta trust me, and I've gotta trust you." Jack cracked one eye open, smirking at the taller man. "But that'll keep 'til tomorrow." Eyes closed, breathing slowing to a regular, restful rhythm, Jack succumbed to sleep.

Slim closed his eyes for a moment, his mind somewhat at ease. Dark blond lashes fluttered open restlessly, and he turned his baby-blue gaze to the dark-haired man sleeping across the room.

Despite the smothering tension in the room, stretched taut to the breaking point, Jess still looked peaceful as ever. Watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle heaving of his shoulders, Slim inwardly resolved to give Jack the benefit of the doubt. He still wouldn't trust the man farther than he could throw him, but Jack _did_ get Jess out of a mess alive and in one piece. For that, Slim decided Jess's long lost brother deserved a degree of credence.

He owed Jack - no, he owed _Jess -_ that much. Resolute to ease up on his newest acquaintance, Slim focused on his best friend, the man who'd become his brother, and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the gentle heaving of his shoulders, until that thin trail of sunlight running the length of the window faded to black, and his leaden eyelids closed.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I am having WAY too much fun with these dynamics here... two over-protective older brothers are the LAST thing Jess wants right about now, but they aren't about to ease off, because I love writing these scenes too much! Thank you all for your patience :)**

* * *

The worst part about waking up from a truly deep sleep, Jess had decided long ago, was the haze of confusion that hung about his head like a gauzy shroud. He hated feeling lost, unaware, and vulnerable; in the moments between absolute darkness and alert consciousness, those few, maddening sensations always rose to the fore.

The heaviness of his eyelids was the first thing he became truly aware of. Lifting them a fraction seemed an impossible feat, during seconds that felt like minutes. Summoning energy, Jess forced his eyes open, blinking the sleep-fogged room into focus.

Sunlight. White, blinding sunlight. His eyes squeezed shut far quicker than they had opened; slow, twisted stretching coupled with a loud groan.

"Mornin', sleepin' beauty." Rich, smooth, and laced with barely-soothed fatigue; the voice startled Jess further into awareness.

"Jack," the younger man acknowledged, swallowing the rough morning edge to his voice. "Where's Slim?"

Running a hand through damp, sand-colored strands, Jack jerked his head toward the door. "He's gettin' a bath and a shave."

"Y'already had yours?"

"Yeah. We were gonna go down the the cafe for some breakfast after he got back."

"Mmm. I don't s'pose you planned to wake me?"

A sharp shake of the elder Harper's head confirmed Jess's suspicions. "No. If you were still asleep when Slim got back, one of us was gonna stay with you here."

A dry, rumbling growl resonated from his throat, and Jess pushed himself up onto his elbows."Slim's tryin' to weasel his way out of a steak dinner, huh?"

"It's breakfast time, pard. I think eggs and coffee are more in order." Tarnished metal clicked as the door slid smoothly shut. Slim, towel draped around his shoulders, quirked one eyebrow upward. "You'll get your steak dinner this evening, I promise."

Satisfied by that statement, Jess nodded, socked feet swinging off the bed and brushing against worn wooden floorboards. "So what's for breakfast?"

Slim and Jack exchanged looks of hesitancy, twin creases lining their foreheads and both sets of brows drew together. As one, they subconsciously stepped in front of the hotel room door, barring Jess's path.

"Aw, c'mon, you gotta be kiddin' me!" Seeing the glances, Jess's eyes rolled skyward, a rough hand raking through his thick curls. "Two of my own personal wardens. This is the _last_ thing I need."

"Easy Jess," Slim ventured, aware that he was treading close to fire, "We just don't want you to push yourself until you're rested, that's all."

Slim was all too familiar with Jess's cavalier, devil-may-care nature, especially concerning good health. It almost wasn't worth it to call a doctor for the young man anymore; sure, Jess would sit quietly while he he was being patched up, but as soon as the doc started laying out guidelines, giving strict parameters for bed rest and fluid intake and exertion... that was when Slim's exasperation with his partner piqued. The younger man's jaw would set defiantly, and he'd nod with every instruction - not a nod of true submission, more so a reflex to mollify the doctor.

"I slept like a baby, Slim... I'm rested!" The hot-blooded gunman's hands played against his sides, gun hand reflexively curling and uncurling at his thigh.

"Little brother, I think your temper's got even worse'n it was when we was kids, if that's possible."

Jess scowled deeply, snatching his gun belt off the bed post and buckling it on. The leather hung low on his slender hips, his fingers barely brushing the frayed edge of the holster. "If I don't get some coffee in me, it's gonna get a heck of a lot worse!"

Jack's hands lifted in surrender, and he stepped leisurely aside. "Lead on, then." He watched impassively as his brother snatched his dusty black hat and stalked toward the door. One hand rose sharply, planted firmly in the center of Jess's chest as he tried to pass. "But you stick close, kid. I don't think Ansem would've picked up our trail, the way we covered it, but simple logic will lead him here sooner or later."

"I can take care of myself." Jess's eyes dropped, watching the hand on his faded blue button-down. "Hungry as I am, I'm liable to eat that hand right off your arm if y'don't move it." Deep blue twinkled once as Jess lifted his gaze.

Jack nodded gently, pulling away. "Just watch your back. That's all I'm sayin'."

"And eat quick," Slim added, pulling the door open smoothly. He clapped Jess on the back, soft eyes bright with caution. "The sooner we get outta this town, the better."

"Eat quick, he says," Jess muttered irascibly, jerking his hat low over his eyes.

The barb was unnecessary, as Slim knew it would be. Minutes later, seated in the cafe below the hotel, Slim watched with mounting amusement as the petite waitress' eyebrows rose steadily higher with the increasing volume of Jess's meal. She was a pretty little thing - redheaded, a light dusting of freckles - and neither Slim nor Jack missed the pointedly coy lift to her chin, the practiced, fluid elegance of her movements as she conversed easily with the dark-haired rancher.

A boot toe nudged Slim's ankle; with a scant flick of his eyes, he met Jack's gaze. The elder Harper sported a grin like a cheshire cat, tipping his head in Jess's direction. Rolling his eyes, Slim returned Jack's repressed amusement with his own thin-lipped smile.

The girl's hand lingered on Jess's shoulder a moment longer, her bright green eyes taking in his features. "I'll be back in a moment," she promised demurely, throwing a look over her shoulder as she made her way to the kitchen.

Jess watched her go, an appreciative curve to his slight smile. He lowered his gaze, fixing dull, weary eyes on his hands. Shoulders rose and fell, indicative of a silent, contented sigh. Running a hand through his hair, Jess turned his smile on his companions. "If the food's as great as the help, we'll be eatin' like kings."

"Believe me, we can _all_ tell how you feel," Jack replied dryly, amused approval playing on his lips. "I never took you for a charmer, kid."

"He usually isn't." Slim ignored the dark look that earned him.

"She's a sight prettier'n the brutes keepin' me company the past few days." Jess didn't miss the questioning lift of his brother's eyebrows. "Yeah, you two included."

Jack snorted, crossing his arms as he settled back in his chair.

Three steaming mugs of coffee clinked against each other as the girl delivered them to the table. "Here you are. Food'll be ready in a bit... we didn't think we'd have to restock the kitchen so soon after the morning crowd-"

"And then my brother comes waltzin' in wantin' enough food to feed an army," Jack finished playfully, copper eyes twinkling. "Is that about the size of it?"

"Well, no, it's not-" The girl flushed slightly, her cheeks taking on a pleasant rosiness. "It's no trouble, really."

Slim nodded, catching her gaze with an assuring smile. "Take your time, we're in no rush."

Appeased by that, the girl's head bobbed once, and she left with a swish of her skirt.

"No rush, huh?" Jess echoed, the rough gravel of his words drawing Slim's attention. After a warm, steamy draw from his mug, he continued, "What happened to that 'eat quick, we're in a hurry' bull that you tried to throw at me not ten minutes ago?"

Quelled laughter creasing the corners of his eyes. "No need to fluster her further than your _charms_ already have, pard."

"I don't see a reason to hurry much," Jess insisted. "I mean, sure, I wanna get home just as quick as you do, but there's been no sign of Ansem or his men since we left the cabin. No fuss, no excitement."

"Like the calm before a storm," Jack murmured, to no one in particular. He knew Ansem as well as anybody, and he was no stranger to this tantalizing sense of security. Any time he thought Ansem's had gotten careless, that sensation would be there, lulling him deeper and deeper.

Ansem never got careless. No matter where they could run, they'd always be right where Ansem wanted them. No matter how long it took, they'd never feel truly safe, knowing they were on Ansem's clock. Getting away from Ansem wasn't enough.

This ordeal would end with bloodshed; it _had_ to, or it would never truly be over.

* * *

"Ansem..." Winded from the ride back to camp, Casey drew in a deep breath. He knew he was walking a thin line with Ansem, and one step in the wrong direction would mean the end. He took the opportunity, getting his wind, to asses his leader's demeanor. Like usual, Ansem's lack of expression was no help. Only the slight turn of his head indicated he'd heard Casey at all. The outlaw continued carefully, wary of the taller man. "He's... he's there, Ansem."

The outlaw leader rose from the stump where he'd been seated, fully turning to face the younger man. "Casey, now's a real bad time for you to beat around the bush. Come out with it 'fore I decide I'm through puttin' up with you."

"The fella who drug Harper outta the Laramie saloon jus' like he owned 'im. I saw 'im in Sinclair."

No reply. Casey looked to Hank and Dover, both wisely silent. Ansem drew a gun from his waistband, spinning the empty cylinder. The hollow click of each chamber sent a new chill up the Casey's spine.

"I went to the hotel jus' like you said, to check an' see if they was there... an' I was at the counter, about to check the register while the clerk fella's back was turned, an' there he was, comin' outta the washroom at the end of the hall."

"Sherman, you mean," Hank supplied readily, swallowing the dry uneasiness that lodged in his throat. "The fella that owns that ranch outside o' Laramie, Ansem."

"The ranch where Jack's brother works." An observation of fact rather than a question, Ansem's statement was quiet and even. His eyes never left his six gun, cylinder open and empty. "He's Harper's boss?"

"That's right."

One by one, spanking new lead bullets slid neatly into their holes. Metal clicked pleasantly as the cylinder snapped into place. "So all three of 'em are in Sinclair right now."

"S'right, Ansem. I watched 'em walk down to the cafe, an' then I lit outta there. Best a figure, they're still eatin' breakfast right about now."

"Then we've got plenty of time." Ansem spun the revolver again, relishing the sound of bullets whirling in the cylinder.

"We ridin' into Sinclair?" Dover questioned slowly.

Ansem shook his head sharply. "No, too many witnesses. I wanna keep this clean." He jammed the gun abruptly into the leather tied to his thigh, jaw pulsing with an angry clench. "We'll wait for 'em on the other side of town. They'll be on their way to Laramie soon enough."

"You still want us to try an' keep 'em all alive?" Hank scratched his mustache, trying to cover the nervous curve of his mouth. "Jack won't help us out iffin' we don't have somethin' to bargain with, an' his brother was pretty banged up when they took off."

"Maybe so." Black eyes glittered with hatred and blood-lust. "But Jack Harper has to learn that he's not his own man anymore. He signed himself over to me when he took Abby as his wife, and no one but me can decide when he's served his time. He's gotten away with too much already... if there's collateral damage, it's his own fault."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long, everyone! I'll try to make the next chapter a nice, long one!**

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen**

Low grumbles, infrequent thumps, and deliberately augmented splashes – muffled by the thick wood of the washroom door – brought traces of a smile to Slim's lips. Jess's aversion to baths, except for when there was a girl involved, had always been amusing to the blond rancher. Jess would have been content to ride back to Laramie in all his dirt-caked, dust-coated glory; Jack put a stop to that real quick.

Coaxed into submission by an all too familiar, unrelenting glare from his brother, Jess had sullenly trooped back to the hotel, dragging his feet all the way. Jack seemed as amused as Slim by the muted sounds coming from the little room; leaned back in the wooden armchair outside he washroom door, legs crossed and outstretched, arms folded neatly across his chest, he seemed pleased with himself. He whistled softly, and his head was tipped back against the wall, eyes closed.

Another violent splash had both heads turning with concern toward the washroom door, and the whistled melody faded abruptly.

"Is he always this noisy when he bathes?" Jack inquired carefully, brows drawing together.

Slim shook his head once, pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate a slight, irritated ache. "No. He's makin' a point, is all."

A broad grin brightened Jack's handsome features, smoothing the tired lines creasing his forehead. "He was never one for takin' orders, 'specially not from his brothers."

"You don't have to convince me," Slim assured the elder Harper, recalling instances where Jess showed exceptional bullheadedness. "More than once, I've caught him fishing with my kid brother when he had a list of repairs a mile long waiting on him."

"You're a rancher?" Jack asked conversationally, a casual note to his baritone. Something in his expression changed; amusement gave way to schooled nonchalance.

 _"_ _Y'know, I've got a few questions of my own. I wanna make sure you're treatin' my brother right. You've gotta trust me, and I've gotta trust you... But that'll keep 'til tomorrow."_

Tomorrow had arrived.

A distinct uneasiness settled in Slim's stomach, despite knowing that Jess was well-treated and taken care of on the Sherman ranch. It was apparent by the coppery shine that glinted in Jack's eyes when he looked at his brother – the carefully repressed emotion underlying his expression – that he firmly believed Jess deserved nothing less than the best. And, Slim realized, he was probably right. The slender young man had lived a rough life, suffered tremendous loss and heartbreak, but had stayed loyal through it all, willing to pay the ultimate price for the special few men that had been allowed to grow intimately close with him.

"Yeah." Slim swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, working up an amicable smile. "I own a ranch twelve miles outside of Laramie."

Jack nodded, processing the information with scrutinous care. "How d'you treat your men?"

"Jess is the only hired man I've got," Slim replied, his voice softening at the thought of the man who'd become part of his family over the past year. "He's more of a partner than an employee now, though."

"That didn't quite answer my question."

Slim chewed his lower lip, glancing down at the worn, cherry-colored hotel carpet. "Like family, Jack. He's a part of our family now."

"You got no reservations havin' an ex-gunfighter workin' for you?" Jack eyed Slim carefully, appraising his reaction. "You said you got a kid brother... you alright with Jess bein' the type he looks up to?"

"You know as well as I do what kind of man Jess is." Keeping his tone level, Slim's light blue eyes met Jack's amber gaze. "I'd trust him with Andy any day."

Jack broke eye contact, looking down at his hands as they worked against each other slowly. "He's all heart. People don't always see that."

"I see it," Slim assured him meaningfully. "I'd give my life for Jess in a heartbeat."

"I thought you would." Soft-spoken words, laced with unimpeded sentiment. "I figured that out when you jumped on me... protectin' Jess with little thought to your own safety. I really respect you for that, Sherman."

"Slim," the taller man corrected, a warm smile turning his mouth upward. "I respect you too, Jack, for all you've done for Jess. Despite your past, you're a good man... I see that now."

The washroom door jerked, swinging abruptly open. Jess stepped into the hallway, hair askew from a thorough scrub with the towel, head swiveling side to side as he took note of his two guard dogs. "Just great," he muttered sullenly, shoulders hunching slightly as he stalked toward their hotel room.

"Did you wash behind your ears?" Jack called, a chiding note to his voice.

"Cute." The brass door handle rattled once, ineffectually. Aggravated tension made evident by his rigid stance, Jess drew in a ragged, impatient breath before turning. "Either of you have the key?"

"Oh..." Slim fished in his vest pocket for a brass skeleton key, holding it out to his partner. "You mean _this_ key?"

"You're a real class act, y'know that?" Jess caught the flying bit of bronzy metal as it flew in a graceful arc, forcefully inserting it into the keyhole. The door swung inward, one spurred boot stomping determinedly forward, before Jess paused, turning to face the two older men. "For all your guard-doggin' and ribbin'... I appreciate the both of you for gettin' me outta that mess. Thanks."

A smile and a wink were all the response he needed; a wry grin turned his lips. "But don't neither of you think that I'm gonna put up with your motherin' any longer, y'hear?"

"Loud and clear," Jack assured the younger man, nodding with false sincerity.

Jess scowled, reading Jack's expression for what it was, and disappeared into the hotel room amidst his brothers' laughter.

* * *

The ride was lively, congenial; lacking in empty silence and dreary faces.

Not nearly as lively as the Laramie saloon on payday, of course, but as cheery as could be expected of three weary, train-worn men constantly looking over their shoulders.

With the alleviation of hostile tension, room was made for playful joking and good-natured talk. Jack was brimming with curiosity concerning life on the Sherman ranch, and all the mishaps Slim and Jess had gotten into; the duo were more than happy to oblige, telling exaggerated tales that far outshined the truth.

Thoughts of Ansem were not dispelled, only repressed for the time being.

Their merriment - guarded as it may have been - may have been why no one heard the crunch of dead leaves coming from the low ridge just above their heads; why the three were oblivious to the eerie presence that lingered in the air.

Just as Slim's intriguing account reached its peak, all hell broke loose.

Gunfire erupted; irregular, staccato shots coming from every direction. Harper and Sherman alike dove from their mounts, hitting the earth as one. Jess was the first to scramble to his knees, eyes locking on Casey – the only threat in his line of sight – and his hand clapped leather.

Casey never even saw the younger man go for his gun. His finger barely had time to tighten on the trigger before something struck him hard in the chest, and he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

As he staggered to his feet, Slim saw Casey fall, and took note of the gunfighter's piece gripped expertly in Jess's hand. He didn't need to look twice to know that Casey was dead.

Something collided with the back of his head, and he whirled sharply, striking out. Knuckles hit their mark, blood spraying from Hank's lip. As he ducked punches, Slim caught sight of Jack at his right, going at Dover with everything he had. The thump of flesh on flesh was morbidly satisfying; a sharp uppercut had Hank reeling, twisting once and colliding with hard earth.

Beside him, Jack and Dover were locked in combat, both gripping the barrel of the outlaw's shotgun. Jack had the other man's back against the rocky face of the outcropping; one lucky jerk, and the shotgun butt flew upward, clipping Dover's jaw and dazing him.

Jack and Slim turned as one, guns at the ready, eyes scanning the clearing for Jess.

 _Jess._ A hurricane of a man who didn't know the meaning of the word 'surrender'. Jess, with a temper the size of Texas, and the fighting spirit and endurance to match.

Jess... pinned flat against the ground, Ansem's knee on his chest. His jaw trembled with rage; white-knuckled fists gave further evidence of his obvious struggling. Ansem only leaned in harder, shifting his weight so his knee pinned Jess's right arm, and the younger man's left wrist was pressed into the dirt above his head. Cold metal touched flesh, the muzzle of Ansem's revolver embedding itself under the shorter man's chin, resting firmly against his jaw bone.

"Fast with a gun, huh?" the outlaw purred, black eyes gleaming with malice.

"I get lucky sometimes."

A hollow, throaty laugh found its way from somewhere deep inside the outlaw. "I knew you had to be fast, if you had a reputation as a gunslinger... I didn't know you were _that_ fast."

"I'm just _full_ of surprises," Jess spat, dry lips pulling into a bitter snarl.

"Kill him, Ansem, and I swear, I'll do the same to you!" From across the clearing, Jack's recently procured shotgun was leveled at his ex-leader's head, finger tensed to pull the trigger. Only the six gun under his brother's chin stayed his hand.

"Kill him? Oh, no." Ansem thumbed the pistol slowly, watching Jess's eyelids flutter with each dull click as the hammer slid forward, resting neatly against the cylinder. "No, I wouldn't waste such remarkable skill. You killed my gunslick, Harper, so I think it's only fair that you take his place."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** **Shoutout to Laramie Station for all her plot help, and to Cowgirl Lucy for beta-ing a handful of chapters thus far - this story wouldn't be what it is without them! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen**

Ansem's words hit Slim like a punch to the gut. Threats and curses danced on the tip of his tongue, itching to be voiced... but he held them in. It clawed at his insides, but he stood silent. He'd never laid eyes on Ansem before; he didn't know how the man's mind worked, how he thought. One wrong word could set him off. The glint to the outlaw's eyes – the deranged lilt to his voice – confirmed Slim's suspicions... Ansem was really, truly insane, and though he claimed he needed Jess alive, a push in the wrong direction could thumb the hammer back, tighten his finger on the trigger, and end Jess's life.

Jack knew Ansem well enough, after the years he rode with him. Though it was a struggle, Slim pushed past the lingering distrust and let Jack take the lead. It was better for Jess that way. Jack would never say anything to deliberately put the younger man in danger, and he would know how to handle the delicate situation better than Slim himself could.

 _"You killed my gunslick, Harper, so I think it's only fair that you take his place."_

"The heck I will," Jess snarled, wincing as the cold circle of steel pressed harder against his jaw.

Ansem's eyes flickered up for a fraction, resting on Slim and Jack. "I don't see as how you got much of a choice, boy. You're gonna do _exactly_ what I say if you want those two to stay alive and well."

"You ain't got any kind of advantage here. You're dead in my sights," Jack interjected, the cold threat in his tone carrying clearly across the clearing.

"I've got a gun to your brother's head." To emphasize his statement, Ansem nudged Jess's chin upward, eliciting a sharp draw of breath from the smaller man. A feral, wolfish grin pulled at the outlaw's mouth. "The only way outta this is if you lay down your gun and come with me."

"One of us Harpers ain't enough for you?" Jess ribbed smartly, forcing his eyes to stay unwaveringly focused on Ansem's. Dad gum, the outlaw had the deadest glare he'd ever seen. Icy anger sparked in dark blue, the flash of raw emotion contrasting sharply with Ansem's eerie lack thereof.

An animal grin slid across the older man's face like molasses. Licking his lips thoughtfully, Ansem cocked his head to the side, a nearly imperceptible gesture. "Jack, I never knew you had such a talented family. First you, with your _magic hands..._ "

The term sounded caustic, falling from Ansem's tongue like a curse. Jess jerked sharply under the outlaw's crushing weight, straining to move more than a few meager inches in any direction. Every rigid, trembling muscle ached to move, to fight; a jolt of adrenaline surged from his shoulder to his fingertips.

"... and now it seems your little brother is gifted as well. He's poetry in motion with that sidearm."

"Leave them out of this." A sliver of emotion fell through Jack's defenses; a barely audible tremor in his voice.

"Jack, you're slipping." Slow and deliberate in his movements, Ansem eased back until he rested on the balls of his feet, crouching low by Jess. His gun never strayed from its position. "That poker face of yours is a little rusty."

"I mean it, Ansem."

The outlaw leader ignored the audible venom saturating Jack's tone. Instead, he hauled Jess up by the sleeve of his jacket, jerking the smaller man to his knees. Jess's eyes slid closed. "I hope you didn't bust your hand up too bad fightin' Dover, boy. I need those hands of yours in prime condition."

There it was again. The miniscule shift in those empty, unblinking eyes; an indiscernible flicker as they slid beyond Jack, then back again.

Three times, Jack had caught the subtle shift. Ansem was baiting him - stalling, waiting for something... or someone.

Deep blue eyes opened slowly, flickered to something, and widened. "Jack-"

Whatever Jess was about to interject – a threat, a sardonic jibe, maybe a warning – Ansem cut him off with a sharp cuff to the ear that snapped his head sideways, tightening the smaller man's neckerchief at his throat.

"Lay off him!" Unable to keep quiet, Slim heard his words resonate through the thin winter air before he realized he'd spoken.

Jack pulled the rifle tight into his shoulder, eyeing the sight with practiced precision. His finger slipped onto the trigger, tensing-

"You put that gun down, Harper, or you'll have two lives on your conscience."

 _I guess I didn't hit Dover as hard as I thought._ Jack turned his head minimally, enough to take in the sight of Slim, his long frame radiation tension, unwillingly shielding the newly-recovered Dover. The steel muzzle of Dover's revolver rested neatly behind the blond's ear, nestling against the feathery tips of his hair.

In the instant Jack's focus shifted, Ansem moved. He yankd Jess in front of him - in much the same manner as Slim shielded Dover - angling his gun downward.

"I need him alive," Ansem conceded, "but I got no qualms about shootin' a kneecap if you drive me to it. He can shoot just as good with a limp as he can without."

Slim's throat tightened, blood pounding in his ears. "Don't you touch him, Ansem, or you're a dead man!"

His hollow glare shifting to Slim, Ansem nodded once, slowly. "Then so are you."

Ansem's height was his disadvantage. Jess, more than a head shorter than the outlaw, wasn't much of a shield. Sure, the taller man's body was protected, but Jack still had a clean head shot... and he intended to take it.

Dover noted the way Jack hefted the rifle, readying to fire, and he used his bargaining tool for all it was worth. "You shoot Ansem, an' I take out Sherman here. We don't need 'im... we still got your little brother."

"Do that," Jess growled darkly, swallowing against the way his neckerchief constricting his throat, "an' your days are numbered. I'll kill y'with my bare hands."

Jack studied his brother's face, reading the angry determination in his eyes. If he fired right now, Jess would be out of immediate peril... but at the likely cost of a man's life.

Faced with a choice of one or another, a heartbeat was all it took for Jack to choose his flesh and blood.

"Put the gun down, Jack," Dover coaxed lowly. "Nobody's gotta die."

 _Nobody has to die._ That would be the way Jess would play it. He was bound and determined to see all three of them out of this alive.

Weighing his options, a chain reaction played out in his head: if Jack shot Ansem, Dover would kill Slim. The second Slim fell, Jack would have a clear shot at Dover. Hank was still out, so he'd be no trouble.

The ordeal would truly be over... but Jess would never forgive him.

"Jack..."

The elder Harper's gaze lifted sharply, locking on the lithe figure in front of Ansem. The panic underlying Jess's tone conveyed his message clear enough: _'Put the gun down if you ever want me to trust you again. I mean it.'_

The wooden stock of the rifle hit first, dust clouding up around it. Arms raised, Jack's mask was unreadable; the indifferent, mask-like poker face revealed no semblance of emotion.

The palm of a hand struck Jess between the shoulder blades, sending him stumbling forward, boots scuffing heavily in the dirt. He eyed Jack carefully, trying to discern some kind of expression; agitation, remorse, anger... nothing but neutrality. Jack's gaze shifted slightly, the cold winter sun catching flecks of gold in his eyes, to rest on Jess.

Some of the color had drained from the younger Harper's deeply sun-tanned face, the unnerving white undertone to his usual pallor only served to amplify his shocked expression. Fearful agitation mingled with confusion, creasing his forehead and the corners of his eyes. The intensity of his brother's searching look was suddenly, overwhelmingly more than Jack cared to handle; his cast his gaze downward, avoiding eye contact.

Jess was numbly aware of hands roughly ushering him to his mount, all but lifting him into Traveller's saddle. Rope bit into his wrists as they were lashed to the saddle horn, drawing his gaze downward... but in his mind's eye, all he could see was Jack - gun at the ready, finger on the trigger - willing to sacrifice Slim's life if it meant killing Ansem.

He'd thought the outlaw life hadn't changed Jack. He'd been so _sure_ his brother hadn't lost sight of those strong, upstanding Harper morals their father had instilled in them from birth.

But there, holding that gun, weighing lives against each other, something in Jack had changed. The slightest variance in his stance, a subtle hardness in his eyes; the outlaw, killing instinct had risen - albeit briefly - to the fore, and that scared Jess more than Ansem's gun embedded under his jaw, or the bloodlust that glittered in the outlaw leader's eyes.

The survival instinct had been buried, but not truly smothered. Kill or be killed, protect those closest to you, and don't let casualties get to you.

And just like that, Jack had buried it again.

"Hey."

Rich and baritone, Jack's voice sounded by his side, pulling his thoughts to more pertinent matters. Jess raised his eyebrows, encouraging his brother to continue.

"Y'know I wouldn't have let him die... right?"

The dark-headed young man drew a long, careful breath, deciding if the indiscernible glint in Jack's eye was truth, or if it was the shine of a guarded lie. He nodded once, restlessly working his fingers against the saddle horn. "Sure, Jack." Averting his gaze, Jess twisted in his saddle so he faced the outlaw leader. "Hey, Ansem."

"Mmm?" Haunting, vacant eyes flicked right, fixing unblinkingly on the younger Harper. "You say somethin', boy?"

Swallowing through the uneasy lump that stuck in his throat, Jess's jaw tightened, pulsing nervously. "He ain't a part of this." A jerk of his head indicated Slim behind him. Lips pressed into a tight line, he tried to gauge Ansem's reaction. "Leave him, let him go. You got me, y'don't need him."

After a beat, Ansem broke into a wide grin; he seemed to be baring his teeth more than really smiling. Glancing briefly at the blond rancher, he turned his cynical smile on Jess and gave a sharp shake of his head. "No chance, boy. I can't afford to damage you or your brother, if I want this job to go off smooth-like. Your boss there? I don't care what condition he ends up in. It's entirely up t'you an' Jack."

The words sent a rippling chill down Jess's spine. He wasn't sure what worried him more; the fact that Slim was in this thing neck deep, or the sickening realization that Jack may decide - when worst came to worst - that he wouldn't let Ansem jerk him around like a dog on a chain. The outlaw in him was weighing lives, and weighing odds... and unless Jess could talk some sense into his brother, Slim's odds didn't look good.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Thanks again to all my lovely reviewers for your patience and continuing support!**

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen**

They say history repeats itself... only Jess didn't think it would repeat itself quite so soon. Somewhere outside of his lucid grip on reality, where the clear line between sanity and acute irrationality began to blur, he felt a burst of true amusement. Their freedom had lasted all of twenty-four hours before Ansem regained the upper hand. And now here they sat, bound to their respective chairs, in much the same predicament as they'd found themselves in yesterday.

Only this time, Jess reminded himself bitterly, their plight was compounded. Now Slim was caught in the middle... and it was causing complications. Roles and hostage values had shifted dramatically; Jess no longer played the part of an expendable pawn. Ansem had found a reason to preserve the younger Harper, leaving the role of the expendable pawn open... unfortunately for Slim.

"You're comin' up in the world, Ansem." As he spoke, Jack rolled his head slowly upright, tiredly raising reddish-blond eyebrows at his ex-leader. Waiting for some kind of reaction - even the slightest flicker of recognition or acknowledgement in those cold, dead eyes - he worked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, running it over his neat row of teeth.

Silent and stoic as ever, Ansem barely glanced down at his captive, beginning a slow circle around the elder Harper.

"These accommodations are a darn sight nicer'n what you had us holed up in before." Craning his neck, Jack twisted in his seat, careful to keep Ansem in his line of sight. Weariness edged his voice, lowering it to a near-mumble. "It still ain't much. I could do with a fireplace to keep warm."

"You've got a good sheepskin coat there. You're in no danger of freezin'." Expression impassive, Ansem absently fingered the collar of Jack's coat as he continued his low circle.

"Maybe," Jack countered, testing the length of his leash, "But somehow, with the excitement of this whole ordeal, I lost my gloves. A safe cracker's no good to you if his hands are frost-bit."

"A valid point," Ansem admitted willingly, jerking his head at Hank. "You bring a strong argument, Jack. I see we have no choice but to accommodate you."

Copper gaze shifting, Jack eyed Hank's slow, deliberate approach with caution. From his pocket, the outlaw withdrew a pair of brown work gloves. "Hank, you sly son of a gun. I never took you for the gifting type."

"Shut up." Hank lifted one dark leather glove, tugging at the fingers - all of which stayed firmly together, thanks to a few rows of crude stitching. "We gotta keep a tight rein on them 'magic hands'... Can't have you fiddlin' with them ropes none, can we? 'Specially not since y'managed to work 'em free so quick last time."

The last traces of Jack's smart, imprudent mask fell away; falsely light-hearted creases at the corners of his eyes faded. A tight-lipped, mirthless smile was all the reaction the elder Harper gave. "Which of your men took up needlework, Ansem? They could use a little practice ... even _I_ can sew a darn sight better'n that."

"Shut up!" Hank snapped, jerking the gloves onto Jack's slender hands. "There - try an' work yourself free now, Harper!"

Jack tested the restraints, dread settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. Sure enough, there was no give in them; his fingers were stuck tight together, thoroughly immobile. There was no way he could undo a knot - heck, there was no way he could even get his fingers close to the ropes at his wrists. "Finest example of needlepoint I ever did see, Hank. You've really got a way with needle and thread."

"Shut _up_ already!" A sharp spike in his pitch and volume, Hank straightened up abruptly, tetchily shifting his sidearm in its holster.

"You must get tired of yappin' at folks to shut up all the time," Jess ribbed, flexing one hand against the arm of his chair as he attempted to roll his shoulder. "Y'seem to say it often enough, maybe y'oughta cross stitch it on a pillow."

The jibe earned him a hollow laugh from Jack, an amused grin from Slim, and an unexpectedly violent backhand from Hank that snapped his head as far left as it could turn. Pain spiked through his neck, even as his cheek stung from the knuckled blow.

"Hank!" Ansem's shout was wrought with warning tones, amplified by the flash in his eyes. "That's enough."

"Look, you said t'leave 'im alive an' undamaged. Y'didn't say nothin' 'bout a little roughin' 'im up, iffin' it don't do no harm."

"I don't need him concussed, Hank. That blow was hard enough to rattle his brains."

"You're one twisted piece of scum, y'know that?" Another surge of adrenaline and anger spiked through Jess's chest; his hands tightened to white-knuckled fists. "I bet the devil himself's got a special seat reserved just for you."

"Easy, kid."

Jack's terse, whispered warning drew Ansem's gaze, eliciting a single laugh. "Listen to your brother, _kid."_ The outlaw's eyes flashed with pleasure, seeing the twitch of muscle in the younger man's face at the use of his brother's pet name. "It's too bad I need both you Harpers in good condition ... I'd love to beat that smart-mouth, back-talking, mule-stubborn Harper spirit right outta you."

"Anytime you feel like tryin', Ansem, you do your worst." Tired, bruised, and tolerance worn down to nonexistence, Jess had reached the end of his rope. He was itching for a fight; everything in him wanted to beat Ansem's brains in.

"After the job goes down... maybe I'll give you your shot," Ansem replied smoothly, tongue running over dry, grayish lips as they curved into a sneer. "Hank, Dover - show young Harper here that he can't run his mouth like he's been doin' an' expect to get away with it."

Instinctively tensing, Jess steeled himself for the inevitable blow; head, midriff, maybe a kick to the knee - he didn't know where the strike would land, but readied himself for the burst of pain.

At a nod from his leader, Dover's hand lifted sharply, poised for a bone-crushing blow. Eyes closing on reflex, head turning slightly away from the blow, Jess was surprised when the familiar thumping sound of flesh on flesh incurred no pain.

"Hey..." Dark lashes flew upward, panicked blue eyes turning their gaze to the figure at his right; Jess's heart beat double-time as Dover landed a solid backhand that tipped Slim's chair dangerously. "Hey, you can't -"

"Yes, I can!" Ansem gripped the back of Jess's chair, jerking him around so he faced Slim full-on. "You'd better get it through that thick, stubborn head of yours that I can do anythin' I want, 'cause you're in no position to stop me."

Another blow struck Slim square in the stomach, drawing a choked sound from the blond that turned Jess's stomach. A quick one-two the rancher's ribs followed that, causing Slim to curl in on himself as far as he could.

This wasn't how it was supposed to play out. Slim wasn't supposed to be a part of this. Jess's careful, calculated goading was meant to draw Ansem's attention _away_ from Jack and Slim... not get Slim beaten half to death. It sounded good, noble, _right_ in his head to keep hostile energy directed toward himself; it gave him a sense of security, a euphoric feeling that he, somehow, had some control over unfolding events.

But like this? No. The situation was spiraling out of control faster than Jess could comprehend.

He'd suffered enough beatings in his lifetime that he'd learned to take a punch. Doggone it, he could take a dozen or more without making a sound. But he sure as heck wasn't going to let Slim take a beating for him; Jess owed the man more than he could ever hope to repay. Slim didn't deserve this. Not at all.

"Stop!" The word tore from his lips with such raw, animal ferocity that Jess felt as though it tore his throat apart.

Hands rested on his shoulders, long and bony fingers digging purposefully into the sore, tender flesh of his recently injured shoulder. From behind, hot breath brushed across his ear, sending a ripple of revulsion crawling up his neck. Jess was painfully aware of Ansem's presence at his back, the gaunt, chilling face right beside his own.

The sound of flesh on flesh, knuckle thumping against muscle, vied with the deafening thump of his own heart in his ears. "Stop, you'll kill him!" Jess swallowed hard, hearing the break in his voice.

"That sounds an awful lot like an order, boy... and from where you sit, tryin' to order folks around is the wrong move." A sneer was audible in Ansem's voice, warm with unsuppressed malice.

" _Please._ " It felt bitter and unnatural to plead with an outlaw, but Slim was more important than dignity. "Please, lay off him. You'll _kill_ him... then you've got nothin'."

Painfully bony pressure disappeared from Jess's shoulder; his eyes darted left, catching the slightest glimpse of a hand signaling Hank and Dover.

The room fell deathly quiet, the only sounds being a light shuffle of feet and the staccato, gasping rhythm of Slim's labored breathing.

"I hope another demonstration won't be necessary, boys. I think I've made myself clear enough."

It turned Jack's stomach to see his brother manipulated like that, to see him forced into a gang and a heist he didn't deserve to be drug into. His tone liberally laced with spite and gall, the elder Harper spat, "You are one _sick_ son of a gun."

"Sick..." Ansem echoed coolly, cocking his head to the side. He seemed to consider the word. "You make it sound like there's a cure."

"There is." There was no mistaking the unadulterated rancor that saturated Jack's words. "A bullet between the eyes."

"You think you'll be the one to put it there?"

"Maybe." Jack let his stony glare flick to his right, his eyes brushing across Jess for a fraction of a moment. "Maybe it'll be my quick-handed brother. Even Sherman over there." The sandy head leaned in Slim's direction.

"You can try." Ansem looked unperturbed by Jack's threat, never batting an eye. "Just remember this, Harper. Every time you - _either_ of you-" he amended, pinning Jess with his icy glare, "-step one foot out of line, your pal Sherman pays the price. He's the only one I can afford to do permanent damage to." Sensing no give in Jack's resolve, the outlaw leader took a step back. "Of course, _you_ don't really care what happens to him, do you?"

Jess bristled. Slim didn't seem to hear, directing all his energies toward breathing evenly.

"He's an innocent man," Jack replied cautiously, guarding his expression. "He don't deserve to pay for somethin' he didn't do."

"Then don't give me any reason to _make_ him pay. Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly," the sandy-haired man spat, forcing as much venom as he could into the word.

Ansem nodded curtly, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Good. I've got a few more details to figure before we can move tomorrow, so you three would do well to get some rest. Don't go anywhere." With a wink and a malevolent smirk, Ansem turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, Dover and Hank following close behind.

The door was barely closed two seconds before Jess was taking stock of the situation.

"You okay, pard?"

The soft, caring edge to Jess's familiar gravel was Slim's sole source of comfort. He forced heavy eyes open, lifting his head with a muted groan. "Yeah, Jess. Yeah, I'm just fine."

"Anything hurt?" It was a ridiculous question, and Jess knew it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Of _course_ Slim was hurt.

The taller man smiled through a split lip, leaving a streak of blood on his otherwise white teeth. "Only when I breathe." The reply was spoken lightly enough, but it was heavy with truth.

"I'm sorry, pard... if I'd known he was gonna lay into you like that, I wouldn't have ribbed him so hard."

"S'okay." Slim's eye twitched - the motion resembled a wink, but it was hard to tell with his eye swelling as quickly as it was.

"Did you take any really bad head shots?" A deep baritone voice, but smoother than Jess's. Slim glanced Jack's way, noting the evenness of his expression. He opened his mouth to reply, but a bitter interjection from Jess cut him off.

"Why d'you care, Jack? What's he to you?" That tone - the fighting edge Slim was all too familiar with - was usually accompanied by a death stare that could back down even the most fearless of gunslingers... this time, Slim realized as he looked Jess's way, the dark-headed Texan's expression conveyed anger, shadowed by hurt and betrayal. "I thought his life didn't matter to you."

"That ain't so." A muscle in the older man's face twitched, his voice taking on a defensive, indignant tone.

"Bull. If that's true, then how d'you explain that little show earlier? Where you dang near got Slim killed?"

"S'okay, pard-"

"No, it ain't!"

The flash of hurt in his brother's eyes was unsettling to Jack. He was so used to being the object of Jess's trust and admiration; to be viewed with even the slightest distrust by his little brother was unnatural and uncomfortable. "Jess, I won't have an innocent man die on my watch."

"You almost let him die back there, with Dover's gun at his head. I don't care if you thought it was the right thing to do... _it wasn't."_

"I hear you." Jack's voice lowered, breaking with emotion. "I swear to you, Jess, I wanna see everyone out of this alive just as much as you do. I had to make a split second decision, and I wasn't thinkin' straight."

Jess was silent, weighing his brother's words. When he made no effort to respond, Jack continued.

"I won't let either of you die."

Jess nodded. "I know you'll do your best."

The room felt ominously heavy with the gravity of the situation. "Look on the bright side," Jack urged, weakly attempting to boost morale.

Jess snorted. An empty, derisive laugh passed roughly over his lips. "What bright side?" The mirthless chuckle was eerily hollow, confirming Jack's suspicion; Jess had truly reached the end of his rope. There was no time for stalling. The clock was ticking.

"Jess isn't the type..." Slim's ribs protested, his breath catching for a moment. "He's not the type to see the glass half full."

Curbing impatience, Jack mumbled something under his breath, turning his face toward the ceiling. "C'mon, kid. Humor me."

"The bright side? Fine." Jaw tightening, Jess fixed steely blue eyes on the worn plank floor. "My shoulder ain't busted anymore, so sittin' here's a mite less unpleasant."

"Was that so hard?" Jack's tone was light, but his head hung low, eyes closed and darkly circled. His shoulders rose and fell heavily, hitching once as his breath caught. The events of the past few days were taking their toll on him as well.

"I'm not sayin' things've improved none," Jess cautioned, rolling his wrists in their bonds yet again.

"Yeah, but they will," Jack promised, meeting Slim's baby blue gaze. Though his words were aimed at Jess, he held eye contact with the man who'd been family to his brother for the past year. A look passed between them - a silent apology from Jack, and guarded acknowledgement from Slim - that seemed to alleviate some tension between them. "This'll end soon, kid. I got you both into this mess, and I'm gonna fix it."

 _'I don't know how, but I'm gonna fix it.'_


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I can't reply to guest reviews, but I wanted to respond to Oletta Hodges - I'm nearing the end. A handful of chapters left to wrap up the action, but we're on the home stretch. I couldn't have done it without you all. Thank you SO much for your loyalty and appreciation... I love you all dearly, from the bottom of my heart.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen**

It felt good to close his eyes, let damp, dark lashes fall, and just _rest_. The morning had been a flurry of conversation, action, adrenaline, and emotion. The rush of Ansem's attack had finally worn off; high-strung, action-tensed muscles had reached their limit. Only just regaining his strength, thanks to a hearty morning meal, he was overwrought and edgy, agitated and restless.

Jess didn't want to think; not about Ansem, or Jack, or Slim, or the unavoidable impending disaster. He knew he probably _ought to_ give the situation some thought, maybe try and figure a way out, but the post-adrenal, narcoleptic haze seeping into his senses greatly hampered his mental acuity.

 _'No fella with half a lick of sense could rest at a time like this.'_

A phantom pain ghosted through the healing tissue of his shoulder; a brief memory of Casey's stormy gray eyes and snide grin flashed through his mind. The sadist's second in command, prey to a well-aimed bullet.

One down, three to go.

Jess didn't like killing. He'd done too much of it in his life... more than was right for his years. His hands were indelibly bloodstained, and he knew it. He'd spent restless nights replaying gunfights in his head; watching his opponents lifelessly crumple. Whether it was a musty, crowded saloon, facing off against a drunken kid trying to prove himself a man, or another dusty street, in another dirty little town, fifteen paces from another back-alley lowlife... the result was always the same. Sure, he did his best to wing a few; the handful of men with good hearts and intentions that were worth saving. Others, like Casey, didn't deserve the effort.

Casey deserved exactly what he got. A bullet to the heart, a crudely dug grave. Not an 'amen', not even a bowed head or backwards glance. Hank and Dover had buried their fallen man with surprising efficiency, camouflaging the grave with rocks, moss, and foliage. The uncovering of a body would be an unfavorable, troublesome hitch in Ansem's otherwise meticulous planning.

That thought brought Jess back around to the present crisis with startling clarity. His grip on the situation tightened, climbing to a previously unreached level of cognizance. Ansem's seamless, brilliant plan - an outlaw's poetry - had been slightly altered due to shifting roles. The emotionless, commanding outlaw leader had to account for an unexpected pawn, and decide how to best maximize his new hostage's usefulness. He also had to adapt to the new gunman in his outfit; surely he knew Jess's fiery temper and inherent insubordination would make him a formidable addition to the gang, a force to be reckoned with.

Heated conversation had slipped through the crack under the door for the past hour or so; only a sporadic few fragmented sentences were intelligible. Ansem seemed to have reworked the details of his plan with impressive speed, as the voices from the outer room quieted, and heavy footfalls sounded with purpose.

Wood thumped loudly against wood as the door swung open and banged against the far wall. Ansem scanned the room for a fractional moment before pointing two long, thin fingers at the corner. "Bring 'em over here."

As the coarse restrictions at his wrists fell away, Jess grimaced, feeling the rush of blood to his hands. Barely giving the smaller man time to roll his shoulders and ease the stiff rigidity troubling his tired joints and limbs, Hank bound Jess's wrists on front of him with the same length of rope, knocking the younger man forward with a forceful shove.

The push elicited a low, guttural sound from the dark-headed rancher; hands balling to rock solid fists at his front, Jess's head turned so Hank was just in his line of sight. "I'm sick an' tired of bein' shoved around by you sons of-"

"Hey." Something cold, round, and hard nudged the back of Jess's neck, coupled with Hank's drawling interjection. "Well _I'm_ sick an' tired of your lip, boy. Don't you go forgettin' what happened last time you mouthed off."

"My memory's just _fine."_

Glancing to his right, Jess watched as Dover bound Jack's hands in like fashion. The elder Harper's brows drew upward, his features taking on a mildly pleading appearance of innocence. "Can we lose the gloves?" Hands held out expectantly, the sandy head cocked sideways, waiting.

Unsure, Dover shot Ansem a questioning look, which was returned with a sharp shake of the head. "Sorry, Harper," the outlaw underling replied dispassionately.

"Worth a try," Jack remarked lightly, flexing his hands as far as he could. An arm linked through his, tugging him toward an old wooden table in the corner.

Ansem withdrew a roll of paper from beneath his long black duster, spreading it on the scored tabletop. Bracing one hand against the edge of the table, he gripped Jess by the collar of his jacket and jerked him sharply forward. Stumbling, the younger man fell hard against the surface, barely moving fast enough to catch himself with his bound hands.

Jess bit his tongue. Oh, how he wanted to spew a mouthful of insults that would make his brother cringe... but he held his tongue. It was one of those precious few times that the younger Harper had reason to grit his teeth and endure in silence, even when provoked beyond measure. He'd never forgive himself if Slim was seriously injured, even killed, because he couldn't rein in his temper.

"Alright, Harper. " Ansem released his hold on the smaller man's collar, stabbing one long finger at a pencil-marked spot on the map before them. Smudged lead encircled a portion of railroad. "You ever rode a train before?"

"Once or twice," Jess grated, feeling a knot form in the pit of his stomach. He could see where the conversation was headed, and he didn't like it one bit.

"You ever hopped a train while it was movin'?"

"Can't say as I have."

Nodding curtly, the outlaw leader tapped his finger against the faded old map. "Right about here, the track splits, an' the train's gotta slow down. Not much, but enough that we can board safely."

"What's the haul?" Somewhere behind Jess, his brother's voice cut in; his timbre was oddly calm and comfortable, as if he wasn't bound and under the gun, but a genuine, trusted member of the gang. _Probably what he was like before running out on Ansem,_ Jess realized.

"A safe in one of the boxcars is holdin' ten thousand," Ansem replied, a greedy glint in his eyes accompanying the lustful edge to his voice.

Jack nodded sharply, mentally figuring the likely make and model of a safe carrying that kind of sum. "Paper?"

"Some paper, some gold dust."

"Passengers?" Jess asked sharply, reflexively flexing his gun hand. Fingers splayed angrily, he spread his stance; the defiant set of his jaw intensified.

The outlaw leader nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off his newest man as his head dipped. "Mmmhmm. They'll need to be taken care of. Can you handle that?"

Jess wanted to threaten to cut the man's heart out. He wanted to look him right in his cold, dead eyes and growl, _'Go to blazes.'_

But he couldn't. He had to meekly accept his assignment, or Slim would pay the price.

"Yeah. I can handle it." He silently swore, to himself, that he'd do his best to prevent casualties. He knew he could never live with himself if an innocent man, woman, or child died on his watch.

"Good boy," Ansem purred, ruffling the dark waves with mock affection. Stiffening at the touch, Jess ducked away from the long fingers that scrubbed through his hair. "We'll make an outlaw out of you yet."

Choosing silence over the expletive-laced retort that sprung to mind, Jess only glowered. This seemed to amuse Ansem greatly; he practically radiated pleasure.

"Remember, you're an outlaw. Insubordination from passengers doesn't go unpunished." Ansem waited a long moment, as his words sunk in. "Shoot to maim, shoot to kill, it's all the same to me. Just make sure no rebellion or heroic act goes uncorrected."

"C'mon, Ansem." Falsely soft and submissive, Jack's voice seemed almost pleading. "Don't do that to him."

"He's my man now," the older man shot back, gripping Jess's arm and shaking him sharply. "He'll do every little thing I ask, no matter how unlawful. No matter how much it goes against the grain of what he's been taught, he'll do it. Won't you, Harper?" Again, Jess was jostled, teeth rattling with the force of the motion. "Because your boss's life means more to you than anyone on that train, doesn't it?"

Jess drew a breath, willing his temper to wane. Blood boiled in his veins, heating his neck and face to an angry red hue. "Just leave Slim alone."

Whispered words; exactly what Ansem expected to hear. Satisfied, he laughed once, releasing his grip on the smaller man's arm. "Good. See what affection does, Jack? It's a dangerous, dangerous thing."

"Easy to say, for a man without a heart."

As soon as the words were out of Jack's mouth, Jess cringed. He mentally screamed at Jack for not reining in his tongue, curbing his temper. He closed his eyes, unwilling to watch Slim suffer at Dover's hand again-

It was almost a relief when Hank's fist struck him square in the stomach, knocking the wind from him as he doubled over with a strangled, surprised gasp. For a brief moment, all he heard was his own breath catching in his throat, then Jack must have said something, because Ansem's voice dripped with unrestrained malice as he gloated.

"Don't forget about my other bargaining chip, Harper. Don't think he's safe just because I've decided to use him in the robbery. We ca pull this off without him, if we have to." Ansem rubbed the butt of his gun, gloved fingers stroking the pearl handle slowly. "I _will_ kill him if you drive me to it."

Jack was silent for a long moment, and Ansem's expression changed, seeming to tire of the interaction. He snatched up his map and shoved Jess back at Hank.

"These two know all they need to, now. Put 'em back in their chairs and give 'em a little more time to talk before we leave." A sneer slid across his haunting face, directed at Jess. "It may be the last time they see each other, if they get any bright ideas."

The outlaw leader stalked out of the room with a brisk air of purpose, and short work was made of returning the Harpers to their chairs. Slim hadn't spoken a word since Ansem's entrance, watching the events unfold in a sluggish daze, but finally opened his mouth when he was sure Hank and Dover were out of earshot int he other room.

"Jess, you've worked so hard to build a life in Laramie, earn people's trust, to put the wanted posters and the gunfights behind you..." Slim's voice changed in that moment, taking on a hardened, determined edge. "I won't stand by and watch you throw it all away."

"No judge would convict me, Slim. Robbin' a train to save a life ain't wrong."

"Legally, no," Slim conceded, a lilt of uncertainty creeping into his voice. "But Jess, what about your morals? You can't really think, deep down, that what you're planning to do is right?"

"Morals be danged, I ain't losin' the best doggone friend I ever had." Soulful blue eyes furiously ablaze, Jess was visibly rigid in his seat. "It'll all work out, I promise."

"What if..." Slim's voice faded, and the taller man swallowed a lump of emotion. "What if you can't stop the situation from getting out of hand? I won't have you kill for me, Jess. Not even to save my life."

Clenching his teeth, Jess refrained from speaking, instead mulling over Slim's words a moment longer. "It won't come to that."

"Oh, no?"

"Ansem's a loose cannon, kid." Ominous foreboding weighted Jack's warning, dropping his tone to an even lower pitch. "That's all y'know for sure. Even _I_ can't predict what'll happen out there."

"I can tell you one thing," Jess replied tightly, his voice cold and hard as Slim had ever heard it. "Ansem'll pay for what he did. I don't aim to see him live to spend that ten thousand dollars."

* * *

"To Sheriff Corey in Laramie: Jess Harper and his brother ran afoul of outlaws outside of Green River. Slim Sherman and I found them. The three are returning to Laramie. Outlaws not yet apprehended, I will inform you of further developments. Sheriff Parker, Green River." Hearing the words aloud, coming from his own mouth, Jonesy frowned. He read the telegram over once more, silently, and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Well that's might good news, Mort. Andy an' I was gettin' awful worried 'bout Jess, 'specially with Slim takin' so long to bring 'im back."

"That's just it, Jonesy." Mort Corey shifted in his seat, across the table from the Shermans' oldest friend. "It's takin' 'em an awful long time to get back. Even allowin' for slow travelin' 'cause of injuries."

"Injuries?"

A small voice from the corner turned Mort's head, his eyes meeting wide, dark, anxiously expectant ones. Andy clutched the newest addition to his collection of pets - a small gray squirrel - unconsciously tightly. The animal chattered mutely, busying itself scrabbling at the boy.

" _Possible_ injuries," the lawman amended quickly, seeing Andy's distraught expression. "Don't worry none, Andy. You know how tough Slim 'n' Jess are."

"Sure." Andy nodded, seemingly mollified.

"Hey," Jonesy started abruptly, eyeing the telegram again. "What's this about Jess's brother, anyhow? I been wonderin' about that since we got that telegram from Jess..."

Mort shook his head, brows knitting and shoulders rolling helplessly. "I wish I could answer that, Joensy. I'm as clueless as you are."

Andy ran a hand along his animal's back, a curious note creeping into his young voice. "Why's it takin' 'em so long, Sheriff Corey? You worried?"

Mort hesitated, careful of upsetting Andy; drawing a sharp breath, he laid his cards on the table. "Jonesy, I got this telegram yesterday afternoon. By my figurin', they'd have been back by now."

"Somethin's happened to 'em." It wasn't a question. There was no inquiry needed. Jonesy's intuition told him everything he needed to know.

"Are they alright?" Andy asked quietly, rising nervously to his feet. His boots scuffed tepidly against the well-worn plank floor as he dragged his feet to the table. "You think they'll make it back okay?"

"With a little luck and a little prayer, I think so," the sheriff replied soothingly, taking care to soften his features and smooth the lines of worry that creased his forehead. "I'm gonna ride out that way, an see if I run into 'em or hear anythin' about where they might've gone." Taking a long, slow draw of coffee, he stood, stretched, and extended a hand Jonesy's way. "I wanted to let you know not to expect 'em home for supper."

"I 'ppreciate it, Mort. I surely do." Jonesy shook the hand gratefully, following the sheriff to the door. "If you find 'em takin' their sweet time in a saloon somewheres, don't you cover for 'em, y'hear?"

The words were joking and jovial, but the crack was flat. The old man's worried tone carried through, deflating the jibe. Mort offered a small smile in reply. "Sure, Jonesy."

Mort knew one thing for sure. Slim and Jess certainly weren't sipping beer with saloon girls... no, they were into something _much_ worse.

* * *

 **A/N: I was really missing Andy and Jonesy... we hadn't heard from them in quite a while!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: In response to Gail's question - My two Laramie stories are unconnected, and in my personal universe, they don't both exist at once. In my head, the events of Dark Enough to See the Stars have not occurred at this point. Technically, you can decide for yourself that those events _have_ happened, and it won't affect anything... but there will be no mention of my other work within this one.**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen**

Jess Harper claimed to be a light sleeper, often regaling Andy with bedtime stories wherein the guarded lightness of his rest allowed him to hear an Apache brave sneak into his camp under the cover of darkness, waking him up just in time to save his hair.

There was hardly a word of truth to the story, and Slim knew it.

When Jess closed his eyes, even to rest, he was deaf to the world, oblivious of what went on around him.

For that, Slim was truly grateful. As stubborn and mule-headed as his partner was, there wasn't a chance Jess would have sat quietly and let Slim speak his piece. This way, the taller rancher could lay down the law for Jack, without interference or protest.

It had barely been ten minutes since Jess's head had begun to droop, his fatigue a direct result of the surge of energy and panic he'd experienced earlier that day. Slim would have waited to make sure Jess was truly oblivious, but his gut warned him that Ansem would be returning all too soon, and time was short.

"Hey, Jack."

Starting at the sound of his own voice, Slim was taken aback by the sheer lack of strength in his tone.

The elder Harper raised his head, tipping it sideways so wisps of sand-colored hair fell away from his eyes. "Yeah?"

"If you see a chance to escape out there," Slim breathed, eyes falling heavily shut, "you take it. Y'hear me?"

"That's like signin' your death warrant."

Slim nodded, jaw pulsing once as he clenched his teeth. "I don't care how much of a fuss Jess puts up. Do whatever it takes, but get him back to the ranch. Get him home."

Jack gave his coppery locks a sharp shake. "Not without you."

An inelegant silence spanned the long, thoughtful pause that ensued. Blond head bowed in thought, Slim weighed Jack's statement against practicality, trying to understand the older man and the way his mind worked. "I can't quite figure you, Jack," he mused, voice low and laced with guarded confusion.

"I can't quite figure me either." A low laugh, almost dark in its tone. Jack smiled mirthlessly. "Look... lyin' and bluffin' my way through life is the only way I know. It ain't easy for me to lay my cards on the table... but you deserve no less'n the truth."

Unsure where this conversational trail was leading, Slim replied with a slow, uncertain nod, conveying expectation.

Amber eyes downcast, Jack drew a long, careful breath, seemingly searching for proper words. "I would've given you up for dead in that clearing, if it'd meant savin' Jess from all this."

Slim remembered all too well the eerie calm that had spread through his being when he'd realized Jack's plan back in that clearing, facing off against Ansem. He'd anticipated death... nor surrender. "What changed your mind?"

"The look Jess gave me when he figured out how I wanted to play it. He ain't never looked at me with anythin' but pure admiration, and I've always tried to stay worthy of that gleam in his eye. This mornin', I blew it. I thought I was right at the time, but I know now that I almost made a grave, _grave_ error."

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd gone ahead with your play. Jess would be out of harm's way, permanent, and Ansem would be dead," Slim answered quietly, his voice thinner than usual.

"So would you." Jack's words were gentle, laced with oddly liberal emotion, an uncommon tone for the stone-faced, unexpressive man Slim had come to know.

"And Jess never would've forgiven you, is that it?" Slim's inquiry came out more sharply than he'd meant for it to - he felt a faint twinge of emotion, seeing the pained guilt that paled Jack's handsome face.

"That's why I made the call I did. I won't deny that's the only reason." The elder Harper's jaw twitched, resolute. "But you took a beating for my brother and never said a word against him for it. You never complained. You put his reputation and innocence above your own life. Sherman, that's the measure of a true friend. After today... well, I'd never forgive myself if I'd let you die. You're a better man than me, Slim. I aim to see you live through this mess I drug you into."

'Speechless' wasn't quite the appropriate word to describe Slim in that moment. Sure, he couldn't seem to force a sound past his lips for that long, uncomfortably silent ten seconds... but then, even if he could have spoken, he wasn't sure he could have found the right words to say. 'Awestruck' might have been a better word to describe him... 'dumbfounded'. That was it.

The silence spoke a thousand words, blue and amber eyes conveying more than words ever could.

Trust wasn't a quick fix, and Slim knew that. But as far as quick fixes went... well, that was a darn good one.

"Why're you two lookin' at each other like that?"

A gruff, flat voice, tinged with suppressed weariness, turned both heads. Jack grinned widely, taking pleasure in his brother's scowl... and Slim had to admit, it was comical.

"Nice of you to join us," Slim drawled, his words coming out slightly mumbled through a split, swollen lip.

"I wasn't asleep," Jess growled, his mood stretched to breaking point.

"Mmmm." Distracted by something, likely a plan to get them out of this mess, Jack's eyes slid closed, his voice taking on a soothing quietness. "What would you call that, then?"

"Restin' my eyes. I was awake the whole time."

"Sure, kid. Sure you were." The submission in Jack's tone was undergirded with amused sarcasm, which only served to deepen Jess's scowl.

"It's time, boys."

Ansem had appeared out of nowhere, it seemed; striding purposefully across the room, he had a no-nonsense air about him that set Jack's senses on the alert.

No words were exchanged between the outlaws, but Hank and Dover didn't seem hesitant to carry out whatever orders they'd previously been given. Stalking across the room, short work was made of hauling Slim from his chair and manhandling him toward the door.

"Hey! Where're you takin' him?" Panic was audible in Jess's tone as he craned his neck to see past the open door.

Ansem shrugged lightly. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"Don't give me that bull," the younger man grumbled, tugging futilely at his bonds. "You're head man around here. Of course y'know."

Again, a small shrug, coupled with a slight, menacing smile. "He'll be safe enough, provided you behave."

Jess paused to draw a calming breath. " _Where_ are they takin' Slim?"

He knew there'd be no answer... nothing but goading and gloating. Still, grating the words out through clenched teeth felt oddly good; calming, even. As if releasing the venom that had built up inside would help the situation at all.

"We leave in half an hour." That was all the answer Ansem gave, and it angered Jess to no end. "I hope you're both rested."

* * *

A pillar of black smoke, slowly drifting closer, sparked two emotions inside Jess: firstly, relief. The thought that the whole robbery was drawing closer to completion my the minute was a small comfort. And secondly, dread. Heavy, sinking, knotting dread at what he was about to do. Under duress, yes, but he was still _doing it._

"Dover'll be along any time now," Ansem drawled, absently running a finger along the butt of the guns he'd brought for the Harpers. They'd get them soon enough... when Dover had arrived and the odds were better, just in case Jack and Jess got any bright ideas about running. "He's stashed your friend Sherman real good. Remember, boys... if anythin' happens to us, or you don't follow through with your end... well, you'll never find him. He'll freeze to death in this weather."

"Slim's a trooper. He'll pull through," Jess replied confidently. "By now, someone'll be lookin' for us... he'll be found."

The outlaw leader's head bobbed once. "He'll be found frozen stiff, without that nice sheepskin coat he was wearin'."

The weight of his words sunk in slowly, like a slow burn, sending anger anew coursing through Jess's veins. "Why, you danged-"

"Dover took a shine to your pal's coat. Seein' as how his was all ratty an' patched, it seemed like the only neighborly thing for Sherman to do..."

A shout drew Jess's red-hot, Texas temper from Ansem, turning his anger on the approaching Dover. Jess seethed in his saddle, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could launch himself at Dover and beat the ever-loving brains out of him... but he couldn't. An hour or two, give or take, and the robbery would be over, Slim would be safe, and Jess would be on his way to see to him.

The train drew closer by the second, barreling around a bend in the tracks, as a great black cloud trailed behind.

Iron rushed by, sparks flew where track met wheel, and the roar of the great iron horse was all the noise the five riders could hear, save some fragments of shouted conversation. Hooves pounded hard-packed earth, as the men spurred their mounts forward, pulling up alongside the train. One black gloved hand gripping the tarnished metal handholds of the boxcar, Jess watched Ansem swing from his saddle, landing neatly between two boxcars. Black coattails streaming behind him, he whirled, pinned his hollow gaze on Jess, and beckoned with one finger.

The younger Harper nodded once, swallowing his apprehension, guilt, and anger, and followed suit, pulling himself onto the train with little difficulty. Finding his footing, he looked up to meet Ansem's glare, and instead found himself staring down the barrel of a revolver. Casey's gunfighter's revolver, he noted with approval. A beautiful piece.

Ansem spun the firearm on his finger, extending the butt toward Jess.

"Make sure you watch where you point that thing, Harper," he warned lowly. "We don't want any friendly fire, do we?"

* * *

 **A/N: There you have it. Sorry this one took a while, I was without wifi for a bit.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Finally, a little action! I finally had an entire day to just sit down and write - so here it is. I hope y'all enjoy.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty**

"Ladies an' gentlemen, this is a holdup."

If it hadn't been for the threat to Slim's life, Jess wasnt sure he'd have been able to force the words from his mouth. The drive to do what was right, to abide inside the law, was overwhelming. That upstanding nobility, that strong, good character that he'd worked so hard to build up over the years was gnawing at his insides, telling him that this was very, very _wrong._

Good character be danged. Saving Slim's life... now _that_ was right. Hang the consequences.

But it was awful hard, seeing the faces of those filling the passenger car. An elderly man, slipping a comforting arm around his wife as she clutched her satchel tightly... a golden-haired little girl, clinging to her mother's arm as the woman pressed one lace-gloved hand to her mouth...

... and a wiry kid, only a few years younger than Jess himself, sliding a hand under his coat. _Reaching for a gun, no doubt,_ Jess realized, with pang of distraught aggravation.

His brows drew together - not lowering darkly, as they usually did when he was using his sidearm. Instead, as he shifted his aim to rest on the kid, the dark brows raised, expressing distress.

"Please don't."

The soft, slightly pleading command was as effectual as the gun Jess had leveled at the younger man. The kid's hand moved slowly, drawing a revolver from beneath his heavy coat. Butt first, he surrendered it to the dark-haired rancher.

The tension building up in Jess's neck and shoulders eased, albeit slightly, with the kid's submission. Anselm's earlier warning, right before they'd entered the passenger car, resounded in his mind:

 _"Remember this, Harper - my men ain't soft. Don't you let nobody get away with nothin', y'hear? If you play this just how I tell you, then I'll tell you where to find your friend when this is all over."_

The urge to pull his newly acquired sidearm and use the eerie, twisted outlaw leader for target practice, or maybe a punching bag, had been almost too strong to quell. But if Jess had learned one thing during his run-in with Ansem, it was this: the older man didn't think like a normal man. A solid beating wouldn't coax information from him. Threat of death would make him laugh, not cower and crack.

Even if he had the chance to set on Hank or Dover, they were more scared of Ansem and what he'd do to them if they let Slim's location slip.

Something nudged him in the back, and Ansem's low warning pulled him from his reverie. "Get on with it, Harper."

Jess bristled. Moving into the aisle, he pulled a burlap sack from under his arm, holding it out to the first row of passengers. "Cash and valuables in the bag, please."

A soft grunt from behind drew his attention for half a moment. He could almost hear the hollow admonishment in the back of his mind, _"I won't have my men goin' soft. No self-respectin' outlaw asks for anything. You take what you want, no civility required."_

Rings, bracelets, wallets, and necklaces alike dropped to the bottom of the gunny sack. Jess felt every item fall, the weight on his conscience growing with the weight of the take.

Nearly half the car had been relieved of their valuable effects when a shaky movement caught his eye. A young couple a few rows ahead, hands tightly clasped together. With her free hand half-hidden beneath a green knit shawl, the petite girl slipped the gold band from her ring finger, tucking it in the cuff of her sleeve.

Her wedding band. The couple looked you enough to be newlyweds... Jess couldn't call her out on it. A furtive glance over his shoulder seemed to confirm his hope; Ansem was faced the other way. He didn't seem to have noticed.

Wide green eyes met Jess's blue; the young girl realized her subtle, nervous movements had not gone unnoticed. She gripped her husband's hand tighter, waiting for Jess to say something, to take the little gold band from her grasp.

Instead, something resembling a thin smile ghosted across his lips, dark head bobbing in the slightest of nods. Visibly relaxing, the couple seemed taken aback, regarding Jess with interest and gratitude. He'd barely passed them by when heavy footfalls sounded at his back.

"Hand it over."

So Ansem _had_ seen. The outlaw had watched the whole thing...

Whirling on his heel, Jess caught Ansem's wrist as he raised his arm for a stinging backhand. The girl shrank into her seat, her husband's arms wrapped protectively around her.

"I ain't gonna stand by an' watch you hit a lady," the younger man grated, jaw clenching as his anger mounted.

Amusement glinted against vacant black, and it almost seemed as though Ansem was _smiling_. It was a chilling, thin-lipped smile that revealed a hint of unkempt teeth, but a smile nonetheless.

"So chivalry ain't dead. Fine, Harper, take the ring and keep goin'."

Reluctantly taking the small, gold band in his hand, Jess tightened his jaw, etching clear, angry lines around his mouth. Inhaling sharply, he felt Ansem's hot breath brush against his neck with a low, growled warning.

"Don't push me, Harper. Keep it up an' Sherman's as good as dead."

A small clink reaounded from the sack, the ring lost amongst other jewelry.

A thump from the far end of the car signalled Hank's arrival, preceding his greeting. "Hey, Ansem. Jack an' Dover done found the safe back in one o' the baggage cars."

* * *

"Dang."

"Problem, Jack?" Finding a seat on a pile of crates, Dover rested his shotgun in the crook of his arm.

Lifting his wide-brimmed hat so it hung on his back, Jack raked an anxious hand through his hair, irritation plain on his face. "Problem? No, no problem... other than this safe's a Hall."

"So...?" Dover gestured with his rifle, pointing to the steel box against the boxcar wall. "Safe crackin's your business, open it up."

Lips pressed in a thin line, Jack regarded the safe with uncertainty. "I ain't never tried a Hall on a train, Dover. The tumblers are awful quiet... in a bank holdup, it ain't too hard to hear, if there ain't no talkin', but on a train?"

Jack paused, listening to the steady chug of the train, the grind of wheel on track. The constant rumble could very well drown out the delicate click of tumblers behind the wall of reinforced steel.

"You'll figure it out." Dover's confident tone and knowing smirk set Jack on edge. "You're clever, Harper."

"Look, if I'm gonna work at all, I need it quiet."

"Sure thing." Dover settled in his seat, legs outstretched and crossed, and his gaze settled intently on safe and safecracker, ready to watch an artist at work.

Squatting before the small steel box, Jack flexed his fingers - dadgum, it felt good to get out of those gloves - and touched the dial, feeling cold metal beneath his light hand. Kneeling, he pressed an ear to the steel and gave the dial a careful turn, counting each click as he waited for the dull _thunk_ of the first tumbler.

"Can y'hear it?"

The second the outlaw started to speak, Jack's fingers stilled. "Dover, if you don't quit jawin', I'm gonna tell Ansem it's your fault I couldn't crack this one."

Dover gave no reply. He lifted his hands in surrender, jerking his head to indicate the safe. Jack sighed, gingerly resuming his task.

 _Click... click... click... click... thunk._

"There's one," the sandy blond whispered, eyes barely flickering to the whitish fog of his breath.

Spurs scraped on wood as Dover shifted, Jack brushed a hand against his jeans, swallowed, and began again, turning the wheel to the left.

 _Click... click... click... click...click..._

* * *

Slim really, _really_ wished that for once in his life, Jess would show some semblance of good sense.

Running off half-cocked, bowing to the whims of a sadist... it sounded good in _theory;_ pull off a job, make sure no one gets hurt, and everyone comes out alive.

Surely Jess knew better than to believe that bull.

Ansem was a few cards short of a full deck; Slim knew Jess had figured that out pretty quick. His promises meant nothing... not that he'd necessarily made any. No matter what happened out there, Slim wouldn't go free. He'd stay alive, maybe, but that was the best he could hope for. After going to that much trouble to hunt Jack down, it seemed unlikely Ansem would let him slip away again.

And Jess? Well, Slim couldn't quite figure how his partner would figure into the future of Ansem's gang. The outlaw leader seemed dead set on making him a full-fledged gunslinger again, but Jess would be an awful hard one to rein in-

With a start, Slim stopped himself. What was he thinking? There was a good chance Mort had figured out something was wrong by now. If luck was on their side, he'd be on his way now. Even if they couldn't count on help from the law, Jess was resourceful, and a fighter. Jack had proved himself to be the same. They'd figure something out; Jess had said it before, and for Slim, the words now rang truer than ever... _'Harper's ain't quitters.'_

There was no one he'd rather trust his life with than Jess, and Jack had made it clear he aimed to see Slim alive every bit as much as Jess. It was a comforting thought.

So until the cavalry arrived, Slim reckoned he'd better busy himself with staying warm. His Henley and button-down work shirt provided little protection against the chilling bite of Wyoming's winter gusts.

Don't freeze. Okay... move around to stay warm. Slim tugged sharply at the bonds securing him to a sturdy armchair, a sardonic laugh catching in his throat. Moving around - at least, enough to stay warm - wasn't an option.

 _'Hurry back, Jess,'_ he pleaded silently, curling numb fingers into fists. _'It's really,_ really _cold.'_

* * *

 **A/N: This was a really fun one to write, partly because we're finally getting into the action. Hope you enjoyed!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: To all reviewers, especially the guests I haven't been able to reply to, thank you so much for your patience and support, as I've said before. It warms my heart to read every word of encouragement. And to Oletta Hodges: I don't have an exact number of chapters left, but not many.**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-One**

 _Click... click... click... click... click..._

"If you ain't got that open by the time Ansem gets here, boy, you best talk fast." Dover chewed his lip thoughtfully, watching the rigid, frustrated jerk of Jack's shoulders. "Course, you always was a good talker... but y'know how Ansem gets durin' these high dollar jobs. Any li'l thing could set 'im off... and that ain't gonna do your kid brother any good now, is it? Ansem didn't even wanna take 'im on to begin with, 'til he went an' offed Casey-"

"Dover, I swear I'll wrap that shotgun 'round your neck if y'don't shut your fat mouth an' lay offa me! Threatenin' my brother for the hundredth time ain't gonna make me work any faster. All you're doin' is makin' me madder'n a wet hen!" Angry, flushing red colored the ordinarily expressionless Harper's ears and neck; one slender hand trembled against the ice-cold dial. Aside from a single, nearly indiscernible tremor, Jack's tone was even and stone-hard. "Not another word out of you, Dover... _especially_ not if it has to do with Jess."

"You don't wanna hear how your brother's doing?"

As many times as he'd heard the chillingly vacant voice, Jack still felt a jolt of surprise when the words sounded out of the clear blue. Both heads turned sharply, Jack to glare, and Dover to scramble to attention, jerking himself from the lazed, sprawling position he'd taken up while waiting for Jack to finish.

"I know Jess. I know how he's doin'." Jack glared, amber eyes flashing pure gold. "He's doin' just like you told him to."

"More or less," Ansem conceded. "He tried to help a few folks hold out on us. Y'know, for all the outlaw blood in him, he's as soft as anybody I've ever seen."

"If by 'soft', you mean he's got some semblance of upstanding decency, then you're right." Temper flaring dangerously, though not rivaling his brother's, Jack bristled. "You're wrong on the other count. There ain't a drop of outlaw blood in his body. Sure, he had his wild years, and found himself on the wrong side of the law, but it was the Harper blood in him that brought him around. What runs in his veins is pure and good, and I don't aim to stand by and see it tainted by the likes of you."

Brows mockingly raised, Ansem slowly clapped, lithe hands slapping lightly together. "That's as pretty a speech as I ever did hear, Harper. Too bad it didn't do a lick of good." Long and lean, a finger pointed to the stoic, unopened Hall. "Finally met the safe you couldn't crack?"

"Dover's been jawin' at me, drownin' out the sound of the tumblers," Jack grumbled, stretching his cramping legs. "And it don't help none that we're on a train, Ansem."

"Finish it, then. Dover ain't talkin' no more."

Ansem's pointed look had the younger outlaw cringing, nodding his agreement as he cradled his rifle.

"Yes _sir."_ Biting, venom-laced retorts weren't in Jack's nature, but he couldn't quite keep that one from slipping past his lips. Fingers lightly touching the dial again, he set to spinning.

 _Click... click... click... thunk._

Dark eyes narrowed, and Jack shook his head sharply in reply. "One more to go."

 _Click... click... click... click... click... click... click..._

The rhythmic tick of the safe was suddenly deafening to Jack, resounding louder, harsher than the roar of the train. Louder even than his own heart, thumping in his ears.

 _Click... click... click... click... click... thunk._

Something caught his throat, even as the sinking feeling settled in the pit of Jack's stomach. Dover hauled him up by the collar, stepping aside to allow for Ansem.

The outlaw leader's eyes absolutely glittered with excitement as his bony hand smoothly turned the handle and eased the door open. There it sat; stacks of perfect paper money, neat pouches of gold dust. It was beautiful, Jack had to admit. He inwardly chided himself for the brief, lusting desire that swelled within at the sight of all that cash and gold.

"C'mon, Harper, grab a sack an' get packin'."

Dover's sharp command broke Jack from his brief, relapsing trance. A sharp shake of his head, and he reluctantly crouched by Ansem, taking handfuls of crisp, neat bills. The two made short work of cleaning the safe, handing the take to a ready and waiting Dover.

 _There's no time like the present._

The words made their way through Jack's head almost before he realized he'd thought them. It was his mother's voice, clear and strong, reminding him of the simple phrase he'd heard time and time again growing up.

"No time like the present," he breathed, barely more than a mumble as he dumped a sack of bills into Dover's waiting arms.

"What's that?" the outlaw snapped, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Nothin'."

Time suspended in that moment, everything completely still. Chest tight, heart in his throat, and anger risen to the fore, Jack felt more brazen than ever. There would never be a better time than right now. Jack hadn't been given a sidearm, but Dover's hands were full and he had one thing over Ansem - the element of surprise. He'd only have Hank to contend with after that, and he and Jess could handle that one easy enough.

Amber eyes flicking down, Jack caught slow movement from Ansem; the outlaw leader must have sensed a change in his safe cracker's stance and aura, and dropped one hand to his gun.

The only sounds after that were strained grunts, as Jack lashed out with a vengeance, catching Ansem about the waist and bodily hurling them both toward the small door at the end of the car. The train turned a wide curve, suddenly lurching and knocking Dover off his feet. Arms full of paper and gold dust, the outlaw had no way to break his fall, and hit the boxcar floor, head cracking against the rock-hard steel edge of the safe.

As Ansem's back hit the tiny, three-man platform bridging between the cars, his eyes flashed with deadly determination. "You just started somethin' you ain't gonna live to see the end of, Harper."

* * *

Slim had known cold all his life. Winter cold waves didn't last long, but they hit _hard_. And from the feel of it, Ansem had somehow conspired with Mother Nature herself to conjure up record-setting low temperatures.

Maybe that was a bit of a stretch... this winter had seen worse weather. On second thought...

Cynicism played over Slim's lips like a ghost, a feverish laugh grating from his raw throat. So what if it was a stretch? He figured he had the right to blur fact and see the glass half empty. Doggone it, he was sitting in a cold, unlit cabin, with no coat or gloves. Ansem had to be plumb loco to think he wouldn't freeze during the robbery.

Maybe, in the twisted, cobwebby corner of his mind, he _knew_ Slim wouldn't make it. Ansem's promises were as empty as his gaunt, hollow stares.

Empty promises, empty fireplace.

Lord above, it was cold.

Unconsciously moving, the instinctual drive to survive kicking in to pursue warmth, Slim rocked sharply to the right, his muscles contracting without warning. Wood scraped, groaned loudly, and shifted. That slight, accidental rock, however minuscule, sparked a swell of hope in his chest. Adrenaline surging anew, he lurched to the side, forcing the heavy chair on two legs. Back and forth, rocking harder and faster, it was by some providential aid that Slim was able to overturn his chair, crashing hard on his side.

Spirited hope was depleted instantly. There was no splintering sound, not even a crack. Sturdily built, the chair stayed firmly in one piece.

 _'I'm never getting out of here.'_

Somber, helpless words that Slim would have spoken aloud if his lips hadn't been too numb to allow it.

Slim laid there for what seemed like moments, but could easily have been hours - in and out of numb reality - until something warm touched his neck, lifting his head.

"Wha..." His throat stuck, eyes blinking heavily open. It was dark, and the face was shrouded in shadow, but Slim would have known it anywhere. "Mort... how...?"

"I got in touch with Sheriff Parker, learned a little about that fella Ansem and how he works... I tried four other places before I found you, Slim. I've been lookin' all day." Exhaustion and relief weighed the sheriff's abnormally low baritone as he loosed Slim from the chair. "Are you alright?"

"Jess-"

"We'll get to him in a minute. Are _you_ alright?"

Swallowing gingerly, rubbing life into his limbs, Slim nodded. "Nothin' a little... water'n food... won't cure." The words were broken up by sporadic coughs and chattering teeth. Slim gratefully accepted the canteen Mort offered, but protested when the sheriff shrugged out of his woolen coat and draped it around his blond friend's shoulders. "No... Mort... you'll get... cold."

Eyes alight with worried amusement, Mort didn't bother to argue. He moved wordlessly, easing Slim's cold-numbed arms into the flannel-lined sleeves. "I'll live, boy."

"Jess." A strained whisper, saturated with pained emotion. "Mort, he's gonna-"

"Slow down, Slim, take a breath. Where is he?"

"S'gonna rob a train."

Whatever Mort had been expecting Slim to say, that certainly wasn't it.

* * *

A hot prickle of breath on his ear, a whispered "Don't try nothin'," and the next thing Jess knew, Ansem had left in a swirl of jet black coattails.

"Where'd he go, anyway?" It had been a good ten minutes since the outlaw leader had made his exit, and Jess was starting to sweat.

"Shut up and look sharp," Hank drawled snappishly, head tilting to relieve a crick in his neck.

Jess knew he could outdraw Hank; it'd be easy enough to get the drop on him, but with Jack back in that boxcar, under the gun, and Slim's whereabouts unknown... doggone it, there were just too many variables. Too much could go wrong.

Or maybe something already had.

A single gunshot rang out, resonating from the back of the train. Passengers gasped, made small sounds of fear and surprise; Jess tried to quell the sharp, spiking pain in his chest.

 _Jack._

He'd surely opened the safe by now... Ansem was a loose cannon, it was plausible that he'd decided he didn't need Jack anymore. That thought spurred Jess into action, dropping his hand to his weapon before he'd realized he'd made a move.

Ansem had told Hank to keep his gun in hand, just in case Jess pulled something... good thing Hank hadn't listened too closely.

"Drop it," the smaller man growled, trigger finger twitching. "Don't make me ask twice."

He'd suspected Hank didn't have the backbone Ansem would have liked to see in all his men. The outlaw's gun clattered to the floor, where a passenger hesitantly reached for it, moving with confidence after Jess's nod of approval.

"Keep him covered," he ordered, dropping the sack of personal items in a young woman's lap as he made for the door. Yanking the door open, he barely hesitated a moment before swinging out, latching onto the handholds on the side of the passenger car. Scaling the ladder with ease, aside from a brief, relapsing flare of pain in his left shoulder, Jess paused on the roof of the car to get his bearings.

To one side, there was open nothingness. About eight feet of shoulder, then a sharp, hundred-foot drop.

Boxcars to the rear of the train. Jack, Ansem, and Dover were all back there... two-on-two. Not the best odds, considering Jack didn't have a gun... and without knowing if that shot had hit anyone at all, the odds were even more uncertain.

Jess could hardly hear the heavy footfall of his own boots over the piercing shriek of the train as he ran, easily leaping between cars. As the whistle faded out, he heard a shout - he could just make out a head, a flying arm. Jack and Ansem were tangled, tussling, rolling about on the small platform outside the payroll car. Jess edged closer, readying himself for a calculated drop that ought to land him right on Ansem's back-

It all happened so fast that Jess's tired, overworked mind could barely comprehend what was going on.

Ansem's foot shot out, catching Jack at the ankle as he reared back for a crushing blow. The elder Harper rocked on his heel, arms windmilling for a long, torturous half-second, and Ansem twisted to his knees, lunging to finish the job.

Copper eyes saucer-wide, bright with raw fear, Jack toppled backward, closing a desperate hand around nothing but air. He disappeared from view faster than Jess could blink... no doubt hitting the narrow shoulder and tumbling over the steep face of the cliff.

 _No, no, no..._

"JACK!"

* * *

 **A/N: Large portions of action are new territory for me, so I hope I'm doing a satisfactory job. Don't hesitate to let me know if things move too quickly/slowly! It's hard not to rush sometimes, since I know the ending and I'm excited to get there :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I'm SO sorry it took so long for this chapter, y'all, it was a wild week, and I had the hardest time writing for some reason. Thank you so much for your patience! I'll try to be much quicker with the next one :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two**

 _You animal. You loathsome, inhuman, dad gum animal._

 _You killed my brother._

 _You hurt my best friend._

Jaw clenched, every muscle taut, and eyes bright with mournful, feverish anger, Jess ached to spew forth the onslaught of curses, threats, and insults that danced on the tip of his tongue. Fear and anguished fury spiked through his chest. His heart beat double-time, feeling like it would pound right our of his chest. He was numb with cold, needle-sharp wind cutting at his face... and yet it was hot; smothering, suffocating thickness that burned his cheeks and his ears and tightened around his chest until he felt as though he was being crushed.

For an agonizing second, he was frozen in place; unable to move, to speak, to _breathe._

Survival instincts taking over before even a second had passed, Jess let his piercing glare fall on Ansem. No obvious wounds, so the shot he'd heard hadn't hit the outlaw leader. He hadn't spotted any blood on Jack either, so-

Steel screeched, sparks spraying from the track. The sudden, jarring movement caught Jess off guard, knocking his feet from under him. His firm footing lost, the dark-headed Texan suddenly found himself standing on air, groping at nothing, adrenaline spiking through his chest as he fell to the platform below. White-hot pain flashed before his eyes; dull and burning, a warm wetness slid down his face. His subconscious took note of the dark red stain tainting the roof's edge from where he'd just fallen.

Dazed, numb with rage, and sick with mourning, he willed his body to move. The jolt hadn't affected Ansem quite so harshly, and the taller man had made a quick recovery. Eyes blazing like hot coals, he lunged at his quarry with renewed vigor.

Dizzy as the blow had rendered him, and hindered by spotted vision and cotton-packed thoughts, Jess fought with every ounce of strength in his worn, battered body. Only when he found himself flat on his back, the alarming majority of his upper body suspended in mid-air, did he fully regain his senses. Ansem had a firm hold on his legs, ready to let go at any moment and let his captive be lost in the ravine.

"It's a real shame about your brother," Ansem purred, leaning harder on the smaller man for an increased hold. "Leastways you get to go the same way he did."

His comprehensive abilities finally restored, Jess twisted, latching onto the train's handrail with both gloved hands. Kicking out, his boot connected with Ansem's midsection solidly, eliciting a satisfactory grunt from the taller man. "Go to blazes."

Ansem coughed harshly, holding his side as he rose slowly to his feet. "Not today, kid." Knowing the use of 'kid' would only fuel Jess's rage, he was ready for the lunge when it came. Twisting and lashing out simultaneously, he sent the younger Harper stumbling into the boxcar, where he landed hard on his elbows right next to Dover's prone form.

Lazy, lifeless eyes stared back into his own vibrant blue.

 _So that's what became of that shot that went off._

Pushing to his feet, he hesitated only a half-second; he could feel Ansem at his back, closer and closer. One more step...

The final creak of wood under the weight of Ansem's boot spurred Jess into action. He whirled, fist crashing into Ansem's face with deadly speed and accuracy. The scales had finally tipped the other way. The following barrage of blows, powered by ardent, unbridled fury, did as much damage as any freight train could have.

Realizing the volume of anger he'd unwittingly unleashed, Ansem cowered, raising both arms in an unsuccessful attempt to soften the blows raining down on him.

"Think of your friend Sherman!" Ansem's tone carried a note of warning, but underlying his threat was audible desperation. "If anything happens to me, you'll never find him!"

Jess didn't seem to hear. Deaf to the world, he focused wholly on beating the life out of the man who'd hurt his partner and killed his brother.

"He'll starve... or he'll freeze to death!"

The black leather fist stilled in mid air, the slight twitch of his eye betraying anxiety. An eerie calm ghosted across Jess's worn, lined face, turning the corner of his mouth upward. "I'll find him. No matter how well you think he's hid, I'll find him."

Something cold and hardened, something criminal, flashed against the deep blue of his eyes as they rested, unblinking, on Ansem's.

The second Jess shifted, readying to haul the outlaw to his feet, Ansem moved. Lighting quick, he threw an elbow backward, landing a solid blow to Jess's midsection that knocked the wind from his chest. As he reared for a another hit, a jerk of the train upset his footing, throwing him from the platform.

Ansem's position was precariously dire. One arm wrapped around the handrail, both legs whipped harshly to and fro beneath the train, dangerously close to its lethally powerful wheels. There would be no climbing up on his own, and Ansem seemed to know it. He stared up at Jess, eyes wide and hair whipping across his gaunt, eerie face. His dark brows raised, clearly conveying a demand for help.

Jess wanted to laugh. If not for the dull ache at his temple and the nauseating anguish over Jack's death, he would have. Ansem really thought, after all he'd done, Jess was going to _help_ him?

"You're not a murderer, Harper."

The corner of Jess's mouth quirked up, a phantom smile barely reaching his eyes. "You wanted to make me one. I figure this is as good a place to start as any."

For what Jess guessed to be the first time ever, raw, unadulterated panic welled up in the outlaw's eyes; it was an unsettling, sudden display of emotion after staring into vacant eyes for days on end.

"You and I both know the decent streak in you is too wide. C'mon, help me up." Ansem was fishing now, searching for a soft spot to dig his hook in and ensure his safety. "You've got all the irons now, take me to prison. Sure beats dyin'."

He seemed sincere. Maybe it was the blow to the head, but grayish fog blurred Jess's judgement. He tried to make a rational decision, think of what Slim would do... but his mental acuities were out of whack. So he did the humane thing to do, and knelt to help Ansem onto the platform, gun drawn, cocked, and ready to fire if necessary.

Just as Jess's hand closed around the outlaw's wrist, finding a secure handhold, a malevolent glimmer sparked in the older man's eyes and he growled, "You say you'll see me sent to prison, boy... remember this. There's not a jail that can hold me. I'll find you. I did it before, it'll be even easier now."

In that moment, Jess fully understood the weight of Ansem's purely evil persona. It wasn't safe to let the man live... and there would never be a better moment.

Doggone innate, primal instinct, trying to work its way to the fore.

Jess swallowed the bloodlust, shifting his footing. He was going to see Ansem hang, and the two couldn't ride like this all the way to the next stop. He twisted his grip, moving to grasp the outlaw's wrist to pull him up. Discerning Jess's intent, Ansem took his hand from the rail he'd been clinging to, readying to grip the younger man's hand.

The train lurched. Dizzy and weak from the blow to his head, Jess stumbled.

The older man's hand missed its mark by mere inches.

Ansem cried out once; the shout was sickeningly brief, cut off in a fraction of a second. The outlaw was lost beneath the train's wheels, dead instantly.

It was too good for him, a quick death.

Suppressing the shock of such a sudden death, the phantom impression of Ansem's hand being torn from his grasp, Jess turned his thoughts to the present, immediate issue: getting off this train and finding Slim. He couldn't save his brother, but he would dang well save his best friend, if there was even the slightest chance it could be done.

Making his way back to the passenger car, Jess yanked the dark blue bandanna from his neck, turning it into a sloppy but effective bandage for the sluggishly bleeding gash on his forehead.

A ripple of soft gasps greeted him upon his return, as his arrival startled a fair number of passengers. Several women half-rose from their seats, eyes drifting to the bloody makeshift bandage around his head. Jess held up a hand, shaking his head.

"M'fine. Don't worry." Turning to Hank, his expression darkened. "Your boss is dead, along with your other partner. You wanna join 'em, or will you come easy-like?"

There was no fight left in the set of the outlaw's shoulders, or the downcast dullness of his eyes. If anything, he seemed relieved to hear of Ansem's death.

Jess nodded curtly, responding to nothing in particular. _Now, to get this train stopped to I can get started finding Slim._

Providence was surely smiling on him today; no sooner had Jess had the thought than a sharp squealing reached his ears, coupled with the groan of steel on steel and a sharp lurch from the train. They were stopping, Lord be praised. Jess took no more than two steps toward the front of the train, to see why they'd stopped so suddenly, when movement caught his eye.

Two horses- no, two _riders,_ one horse. It was difficult to tell, with the motion of both train and horse, but they looked like...

"Slim," the dark-haired rancher breathed, the word catching in his throat. He didn't know why or how Slim was riding alongside the train, or how he'd gotten there to begin with, but he felt weak-kneed with relief, dropping into an empty seat when his legs gave out for a split-second. And that man, riding double with Slim... it looked like...

Could it be? Or was the head wound messing with his eyesight?

"Lord above- _Jack!"_

Nearby passengers jumped near out of their skin, startled by the abrupt volume of Jess's cry. Dodging idlers in the aisle, Jess lunged for the door, practically falling into the hand rail as he leaned out toward the approaching riders.

"Jack! Slim!"

Slim brought Alamo to a standstill as the train came to a complete stop. As luck would have it, Dover got careless without Ansem breathing down his neck and left Slim's mount tied up outside the cabin; it had been like a red flag for Mort. Jack dismounted carefully, hiding a wince behind that ever-present poker face as he turned to greet his brother.

"Hey, kid. Y'don't look so good." His voice was shakier than normal, his face paler and streaked with dirt, and he awkwardly cradled his left arm... but from all outer appearances, Jack was alright.

"You don't look so good yourself." Jess swallowed the rasp in his voice, feeling his heart doing flips in his chest at the sight of his brother, very much alive. And Slim... Jess turned his gaze, assessing his partner with a quick but thorough glance. Slim was a frightening shade of white, and seemed awfully fatigued, but he wore the biggest smile he could muster. "Y'look a little cold, pard."

"I'm warming up," Slim assured him, gray-blue eyes glimmering with relief at finding his friend alive. "Where's Ansem and his men?"

"Dead, 'ceptin' for Hank."

"Ansem... he's dead?" Hopeful inquiry creased Jack's brow, and he laid a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. "You're sure?"

Drawing a deep breath, Jess nodded. "Never been more sure of anything in my life. And let me tell you somethin', I ain't never been more relieved, neither. How'd the train get stopped? And Jack... how are you alive? I- I saw you fall." A gentle gravel worked its way into Jess's voice, soulful blue eyes resting on Jack's weary face.

"You saw me fall from the _train_ ," Jack corrected. "You didn't see me go over the ravine's edge, and you certainly didn't see me die."

"He'd somehow managed to find a handhold, and was working to pull himself back up when Mort and I happened by, chasing after the two of you." Slim pulled his coat tighter around himself, turning up the collar against the wind. "Lucky we showed up, too. With that arm, he'd never have made it."

"Let me see." The way Jack cradled his arm more securely at the demand only heightened Jess's resolve. "Jack, I won't take no for an answer." Easing the coat sleeve from Jack's arm, Jess grimaced. "Broken. You're seeing a doctor the minute we reach town."

"You could set it just as well," Jack urged, hissing at his brother's touch. "It'll wait. Slim's worse off'n I am, anyhow."

"I'll live," Slim replied lightly, nodding toward the bandage on Jess's head. "What's that?"

"Nothin'," Jess grumbled, instinctively ducking away from the meddling hands that came at him from both directions. "Will you two lay off?"

"That ain't wrapped proper," Jack pointed out calmly, lifting his good hand to indicate the handkerchief bandage. "Lemme fix it for you."

"With only one good arm? I don't think so. I can manage myself; in fact, I _like_ the bandage this way. It's perfect."

"I'll do it, then." Before Jess could object, Slim had ushered him to the train, sitting him down at the edge of the platform. In no time flat, Slim had his head rewrapped and nearly tended to.

"Jess-boy. Awful good to see you in one piece."

Looking up at the new voice, Jess grinned broadly, albeit tiredly. "Good to see you too, Mort. I take it you stopped the train?"

The sheriff nodded once. "Sure did. Y'alright?"

"Sure. Us Harpers are tough as nails. Nothin' short of a hurricane could get rid of us."

"Now that you mention it..." Mort turned to Jack, hand extended. "Mr. Harper, I believe it is. I'm Sheriff Mort Corey, of Laramie."

"Pleasure, Sheriff Corey." Jack gingerly returned the handshake, careful not to jar his arm. "Call me Jack. I... ah... I suppose you've heard about me?"

"I pieced a few things together," Mort conceded. "You've got the law to answer to, son. What you did today will go a long way, but I'm going to have to take you into custody."

"But Mort-!"

"I'm sorry, Jess." The older man stopped Jess with a raised hand. "It's the law. It'll do you good not to resist it."

"S'okay, kid," Jack assured him. "I gotta pay for my time outside the law, and I'm willin' to do just that, if it means I got a normal life ahead of me."

"Jack..." Jess turned mournful eyes from the sheriff to his brother, swallowing the lump that rose in his throat. "Twice, I thought I'd lost you. I don't aim to lose you again."

Jack nodded, forcing a smile for his brother. "I know, kid. I don't wanna lose you, either."

* * *

 **A/N: There you have it. Again, SO SO sorry it took so long. The creative juices just weren't flowing. Just a little bit left...**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I wanted to get this one out Tuesday morning, but I was unexpectedly sans internet. Sincerest apologies, y'all. As always, your reviews and patience are appreciated! I hope you enjoy this next bit. :)**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Three**

Mort Corey licked his lips thoughtfully, adding another crisp sheet of paper to the growing stack of robbery reports on his desk. Letting out a heavy breath, the contrast of noise against the otherwise graveyard silence in the little office was disarming. His eyes flicked upward, brows raising as he settled his gaze on the young man seated across from him.

"Don't be so quiet, boy, you're making me nervous."

Jack coughed, nervously thumbing the wide brim of his dark brown hat. _"I'm_ makin' _you_ nervous? That's a laugh, sheriff."

The old sheriff smiled encouragingly, setting aside the stack of reports. "Don't look so worried. From everything I've just read, you don't have much to worry about."

"Nothin' but ten years in prison," the younger man mumbled.

"Don't be so uppity, Harper," Hank snapped, lounging on the cot in his cell. "You were just as much a member of Ansem's crew as the rest of us, an' here I am gettin' _twenty_ years, more'n likely!"

"According to these reports, you murdered and he didn't," Mort replied, his tone clipped and official. "You may very well hang, mister."

Hank's bitter retort was cut off by the thud of boots on wood, and the arrival of a tall, wiry man. "Sheriff Corey, I hear you've got a few men for me to try today."

"Judge Terry." Rising to his feet, Mort extended his hand for a firm shake. "This here is Jack Harper. He used to ride with Charles Ansem, but he's had a change of heart and even helped to take down ol' Ansem and the other members of his former gang."

"Harper?" the judge echoed, quizzical expression turning to Jack. "No relation, surely...?"

Mort nodded somberly. "His older brother."

Taken aback, Judge Terry rubbed his stubble absently, assessing the man before him. "I see. Well, young mister Harper... let's get started."

* * *

"Can't you go any faster, doc?"

Slim nearly threw his hands up in exasperation; as it was, seated by Doc Hansen's pot-bellied stove with a cup of hot coffee in his hands, he only lowered his blond head tiredly, letting a sigh pass over his lips. The color had finally returned to his face, enough to satisfy the old doctor. Attentions had then been turned to Jess... that danged son of a gun had refused any help until his pard was seen to. _Just like a Harper,_ Slim thought to himself, as equal parts amusement and frustration vied for command.

"Jess Harper," Doc Hansen growled, making no discernible effort to hide the stark irritation in his tone, "Your griping will get you nowhere. You'll do well to go along with me, you hear?"

"I hear you." Arms crossed over his chest, coupled with the angry set of his jaw, had Jess looking the part of a defiant little boy. The young rancher's dark waves were mussed beyond comprehension, tumbling over his forehead to overhang feverishly bright blue eyes. He inclined his head, moving so his view of the street wasn't obstructed by the doctor's meddling... 'meddling' being Jess's definition of any medical aid he deemed unnecessary and trivial.

"Jess!"

A firm hand gripped the young man by the ear, turning his head forward again. He turned his weary ire upward, meeting the doctor's pointed gaze.

"Hold your doggone head still and let me finish cleaning that wound, or I'll get Slim to come help-"

"Fine." A flickering glance Slim's way, still recovering by the fire, urged Jess into submission. Slim needed to be sitting, thawing, not up and about. He forced his dark head to still, turning his eyes as far as possible in an effort to see out the window.

"You're keeping a mighty close watch on that jail, son," Hansen observed, taking a damp cloth to the angry red gash at his patient's hairline. Ready for the violent recoil as alcohol burned the raw wound, the old doctor already had a handful of hair, holding steady as he continued to work. "Easy, boy. He'll be along soon enough."

"What's takin' 'em so long, anyhow?" Jess demanded, anxiously bouncing one knee. His arms crossed tighter still, knuckles whitening.

"I'm sure Judge Terry is being as efficient as possible, Jess, but if he's gonna be fair and just, he's gotta take the time to hear all the facts." Slim took another long draw of coffee, swirling it around in his mouth and enjoy the bitter-sweet warmth before swallowing.

Jess nodded once, half-listening to his partner. "But his arm-"

"Is being tended," the doctor finished, cutting Jess off in the middle of his anxious rambling. "My nurse is quite capable of setting a broken arm. No doubt she's already got him fixed up and wearing a sling." Doc Hansen frowned, dropping his gaze to Jess's shoulder as he finished the head wrappings. "Speaking of slings, I think you may need one for that arm."

"Ain't broke," Jess answered immediately, feeling the strip of bandage at his forehead.

At that, Slim couldn't help himself. He snorted loudly, drawing a glare from Jess.

"But you did say the shoulder was dislocated several days ago, didn't you?"

Jess's disgruntled silence was enough for the doctor. He took the arm in his light, gentle grasp, lifting and rotating it slowly. "Does it hurt any?"

"A little." Jess licked his lips, casting another worried glance out the window.

"Maybe some torn or strained muscle and ligaments." The doctor drew a cloth from his supply bag, expertly binding Jess's arm and shoulder. "Keep it in a sling for a week or so, until you can move it freely without pain. Alright?"

"Mmmm."

Seeing his patient was too distracted by the jail across the street to respond, Hansen turned to Slim. "See that he does, will you?"

"Sure, doc. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Well they sure got here quick," Jess exclaimed suddenly, straightening in his seat. "Jonesy'n Andy's here. There ain't been enough time for a rider to make it out to the ranch and bring 'em back... how'd they make it so fast?"

"It's Monday, pard. Supplies are in," Slim replied, marveling at the realization that all the recent events with Ansem, Jack, and the train robbery had taken place in one short weekend.

Brow knit with worry, Jess crossed the room in a few quick strides, peering through the glass of the front door. "Jonesy don't look like he's slept more'n a few hours since Friday."

"I know he was worried about you, Jess, but I gave him clear enough warning not to let it keep him up at night-"

"More'n likely worryin' over _you_ was what did it."

Those words had Slim on his feet in an instant, yanking the door open and striding out onto the boardwalk. Jonesy and Andy didn't know they were alright, or even if they were alive. They were likely still worried out of their minds...

"Hey, Andy!"

It wasn't Slim, but a rough, gravelled shout from behind him that turned Andy's head. The boy's face lit up in the span of a heartbeat, his dark, soulful eyes growing saucer-wide.

"Slim! Jess!"

Paying no heed to approaching riders and stagecoaches - thankfully none were in sight - Andy leapt from the buckboard, stumbling and running across the dusty street to bury his face in his brother's chest, arms tight around his waist.

"Good to see you too, Andy," Slim greeted, feeling a slight crack in his voice as a small smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "Did you give Jonesy any trouble while I was away?"

Andy pulled back, shaking his head solemnly. "No, Slim. Not a bit." Barely turning his dark head, he acknowledged the presence of a hand on his shoulder.

Jonesy gave Andy's arm a quick squeeze, fixing his eyes on Slim. "We figured somethin' had happened t'you, boy. Run into some trouble, did you?"

"Yeah." Swallowing, Slim lowered his baby blue gaze when Andy bolted, darting past his brother.

"Hey there, Tiger!"

Jess dropped to a crouch, wrapping a muscled arm around Andy's middle as the boy's arms encircled his neck. The younger Sherman's boots left the ground for only a few moments as he was caught up in Jess's one-armed bear hug.

The sharp rap of knuckles on glass warranted Slim's attentions; Doc Hansen was watching the reunion from his front window, frowning at the slight, swaying unsteadiness to Jess's stance as he lifted Andy. Pointedly gesturing toward his own temple, in reference to the younger Harper's head wound, the old doctor mouthed something along the lines of 'No roughhousing!' with emphatic displeasure.

A smile playing wearily on his lips, Slim answered the order with a small salute and a quick nod. Only once Andy's feet touched dirt again did Doc Hansen leave his post at the window, shaking his head.

Releasing his hold, Jess briefly lifted a hand to the bandage at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut for a nearly imperceptible moment. Gripping Andy's sleeve, Slim tugged him a step backward. "Gentle, Andy," he warned lowly, following the boy's eyes as they traveled upward to rest on Jess's assorted bandages.

"Ain't you gonna tell us what happened, Jess?" Supplies forgotten, Jonesy tipped his head to the side expectantly. "Are y'alright?"

"Course I am, Jonesy. Y'can't keep a Harper down for long." Jess winked down at Andy, affectionately scrubbing a work-weathered hand through the younger Sherman's hair. "Speakin' of Harpers, there's a fella I'd like you to meet."

"Does he have anything to do with that cryptic telegram you sent a few days ago?" One eyebrow rose sharply, and Jonesy pushed his hat back on his head.

Nodding curtly, Jess turned to the sheriff's office, resting a light hand on Andy's shoulder to pull him close. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Slim brought up the rear, imagining the confusion on Jonesy's and Andy's faces as they followed Jess across the street, up the shallow step, and into Mort's office.

"Andy, Jonesy," Jess announced from inside, his voice carrying back to Slim. His tone was strained, tired, but he kept it laced with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. "This is Jack Harper... my brother."

* * *

"I still can't believe it," Jess murmured, half to himself, half to the man beside him. "I just can't believe it."

"Seein' is believin', kid. Here I am, in the flesh."

The younger man laughed softly, bright eyes downcast. "Not just that... I mean that you're here, you're alive, you're... well, you're safe and headed toward amnesty, even a full pardon if all goes well. I know Mort wouldn't lie to me, but when he said he didn't pull any strings to get you that kind of deal-"

"He didn't, cross my heart." Jack drew a cross over his chest, pulling a solemn expression. "The arrangements were Judge Terry's doin', with no extra coaxin' from your sheriff."

"And to top it all off, he released you to our custody for tonight," Slim added, mindlessly running his thumb up and down the stem of his glass. "That's what I call luck."

"What's this joke about a steak dinner?" Abruptly changing topics, Jonesy's brow knit in wonderment as his gaze skipped from Jess, to Slim, to Jack, and back again. "The three of you've been carryin' on about steak, when I'd have been just as happy with meat and potatoes down at the cafe."

"You can have your meat and potatoes, Jonesy, but Slim here promised me a steak, and I aim to collect." Slapping his partner on the back, Jess grinned widely. The bright expression faded the worn lines in his forehead, the dark circles shadowing his eyes.

"You'd think after all I went through, he'd let me out of it," Slim joked lightly, eyeing Jack across the table.

The elder Harper's mouth quirked upward, amber eyes sparkling with jest. "Not a chance. Nothin' stands between Jess and his meals, 'specially not a good steak."

Warm blue eyes rolled in mock annoyance; Jess opened his mouth to return the playful jab, but his expression morphed in the span of a second from amused irritation to one of warm congeniality.

"Who's she?" Jack asked through his teeth, turning on the brightest smile he could manage.

"The lady that runs the place, Dinah Wright," Jess replied, much in the same fashion. He knew they were grinning like fools, but with good cause, he reasoned. There wasn't a single man in town that hadn't made a go for the young, pretty, and very much available restaurant hostess and manager.

"Evenin', fellas," Dinah greeted warmly, flashing a white, pretty smile. Her gentle gray gaze swept over the table, landing on Jack with an air of curiosity. "Jess, who's your friend?"

Jess had barely opened his mouth to speak when a smooth, deep interruption from his right drew his gaze from Dinah's rosy-cheeked grin.

"Jack Edwards, ma'am." He extended a hand, lightly gripping her own delicate one. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Mister Edwards," Dinah replied softly, dipping her head demurely.

Sharply shaking his sand-colored strands, the elder Harper withdrew his hand. "Jack, ma'am. Just Jack."

"Jack," the lady echoed, coupled with a quick nod of acknowledgement. Then turning to Slim, she continued, "May I bring you some brandy? On the house, of course," she added evenly, surveying the injury-ridden men before her.

"We could use a good drink," Slim admitted, grinning at the sight of both Harpers, bandaged as they were. He must be quite a sight himself, he realized. "Thanks, Dinah."

Skimming over the table with another brilliant smile, the woman turned and whisked off to the back, with a light "Won't be but a minute" called over her shoulder.

Admiring the lady as she left, Jack almost didn't hear the low voice beside him.

"Why'd you use your middle name, _Mister Edwards?"_

"Easy, kid." Turning a disarming smile his brother's way, Jack clapped his hand on the younger man's uninjured shoulder. "I ain't taken to lyin' again, if that's what you mean. These folks are your friends, and I don't want 'em to think less of you 'cause your big brother's headin' to jail."

"It's just a year, Jack." Nearly whispering the words, Jess swallowed the emotive lump that filled his throat. "Mort said it'll likely be less, even half that, with good behavior and good luck. You're a good man, goin' straight. They'll see that."

"Maybe. But they'll still talk." Jack exhaled loudly, dropping his gaze. "I won't put you through that, little brother."

"Put me through what?" Jess snorted, shifting in his chair as he took a quick swallow of his drink. "I ain't always walked the straight 'n' narrow myself, and all these folks know that. They don't hold it against me, and they sure as heck won't judge you for makin' mistakes in the past."

Jack nodded slowly, contemplatively. "The people here are good, decent."

"The goodest you'll ever meet," Andy assured him, serious as could be.

"The _best,_ you mean." Slim raised his brows, but carried the grammatical correction no further.

"Point is, it's a good place to settle." Jonesy caught Jack's gaze meaningfully. He'd warmed up to the elder Harper quickly, not long after Andy took a shine to him. "We'd be happy to have you."

Seeming to consider this, Jack was quiet. He'd never really _settled_ somewhere before... joining up with Ansem hadn't counted as settling. Outlaw life was unpredictable; not like ranch life, living day to day with a set routine and a real family. Heck, he hadn't lived like that since the fire. "Maybe," he answered, finally. "Someday... in about a year."

* * *

 **A/N: One to go, I think. I'll try and be quick! While the last chapter is in the works, feel free to give me ideas or requests for new stories, either with or without Jack! I don't have any new stories in the making, so any prompts or ideas would be welcomed!**


	24. Chapter 24

**WOW, it feels good to have another complete work. I know original characters (especially family) in many fandoms aren't always well received, so it's really wonderful to have gotten such a great response to Jack. He was fun to write. And if you weren't overly fond of the new Harper, don't worry - I'll continue to write predominantly canon fics.**

 **One more question for you all, while I write more stories (thanks to all the creative ideas I received this week!): do you prefer Daisy and Mike, or Andy and Jonesy? I'm partial to the original four myself, but if you all want to see some Daisy and Mike (as seems to be the case), I'll do my best to oblige.**

 **Thank you all so much for your support, patience, and kind words! I love you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Four**

 _It's over._

Countless times since the day before, Jack had turned the phrase over in his mind; let it roll on his tongue, savoring the taste of the words.

 _It's over._

"And it's about doggone time, too," the elder Harper whispered, his rich, smooth voice no louder than a gentle breath.

Low and mumbled as they were, Jess barely caught the words, almost dismissing them as a play of the wind. "Hmmm?"

Amber eyes flicked upward suddenly, almost startled in appearance. "Wh- oh, nothin'. Just thinkin' aloud, is all."

"Y'okay?" Pensively spoken, the inquiry served to enhance Jess's rapt, uneasy expression. A solid night's sleep had done him a world of good; the blue of his eyes was brighter, the whites clear of bleary redness. Even the shadows weighing his features down had faded dramatically.

Jack's expression - carefully unrevealing - softened, warmth seeping into his gaze. "Sure, kid. Jail's a picnic next to a life under Ansem's thumb, never knowing when or if you'll break away. This way, I can count the days, bide my time... I'll be back before you can blink."

Across the office, Mort busied himself with his gun belt, stalling as he deliberately checked each chamber of his revolver... twice. "Just a few minutes more, boys."

"I'll come out an' visit, often as I can." Jess's mouth upturned, the slightest smile softening his features. "That is, if Slim here'll spare me. I wouldn't want the ranch to go under 'cause I took a day off now and then."

Playfully slugging his partner on the arm, Slim grinned through the bruising that colored his lip. "Hey, now. You make me sound like a slave driver."

"I just call it like it is." Neatly ducking the next light blow, Jess winked at his friend, his partner... his brother, even if not by blood. "Ease up, Slim. Y'know I'm joshin' with you."

"I know that," Slim replied, "but _he_ doesn't _._ " One finger stabbed the air, turning all eyes Jack's way.

"I can read him like a book, Sherman. Always could." Amber eyes shone glassily, flicking from bother to friend in turn. "I'm a gambler, it's my business to know a truth from a tall tale."

"You _were_ a gambler," Jess amended sharply, biting his tongue the moment the unintentionally curt words were spoken.

"I was," echoed Jack, accepting the amendment with a nod of agreement. "Card sharpin' ain't my game anymore. That don't mean I can't still work my cards, kid, and clean you out of a month's pay."

"Maybe. But you taught me every trick in the book, I can spot 'em a mile away." Softer now, Jess's words were coupled with a smile; not a stiff, tight-lipped smile, but a genuine grin that relaxed every line in his face.

"We've gotta go, Jess." Clean and professional, scantily laced with subtle regretful undertones, Mort's voice and the hand he rested on the younger man's shoulder diverted Jess's gaze.

Jess nodded, jaw clenching apprehensively. "Sure, Mort."

Jack met his brother's gaze for a moment, extending a hand to Slim. "Keep on bein' a brother to 'im... I've tried to work it out in my head, how to show y'how grateful I am that you gave Jess a home and a family... I can't say it any plainer'n that. I owe you a lot, Sherman, for what you've done for both me and Jess. One day I hope to repay you."

"It's nothing." Slim shook the hand firmly. "He's made the ranch a livelier place. Wouldn't be the same without him."

After lingering a moment, Jack turned to take his brother into a warm, strong embrace. "Bye, kid."

"G'bye, Jack." Jess's vivid blue eyes shone glassy, and he squeezed them shut. Blinking rapidly, he broke Jack's hold and stepped back, an arm's length between them. "See y'real soon, okay?"

"I'm countin' on it." Neatly resting his hat over sand-brown strands, Jack nodded to Mort with tight-lipped resignation. "Ready, sheriff."

"C'mon, then."

Slim watched the light bob of Jess's throat as he swallowed, the way his fingers played against his leg, anxiously curling and uncurling.

"Jess."

The gentle firmness of Slim's voice, and the hand he laid on his friend's arm, seemed to pull Jess from his trance. He snapped to awareness, shuffling back from the door to allow Mort and Jack to pass.

"Y'okay, pard?"

Watching his brother's wide-brimmed hat, silver conchos gleaming in the cold winter sun, Jess gave a slow nod, running a hand through his waves. "I think so."

"I'm sorry. I really am. Jack's all the family you've got left, and-"

"No, he ain't," Jess interrupted, his voice stronger now. He turned a grateful look Slim's way. "I've got you. And Jonesy'n Andy. You're every bit my brother, just as much as Jack." His tone softening again, Jess finished, "An' that makes bein' separated a heck of a lot easier."

Slim smiled. Jess was so different now from that wandering drifter he'd met on his ranch that day, those two years ago. The no longer worried he'd pack up and head out at the drop of a hat. He'd dug his roots deep, and finally found a family. "C'mon, pard." Wrapping an arm around his partner, he ruffled the shorter man's hair, pleased by the mixed smile and scowl that produced. "Let's go home."

* * *

 **A/N: Short, I know, but I didn't want to weigh down the ending with a lengthy departure, or over-stretch this last chapter.**

 **I truly hope you all enjoyed this work, I look forward to writing for you in the future. Thank you for your lovely reviews and support.**


End file.
